The Ring

It’s only a ring That is true; Yet, this ring my Father knew. Upon his finger it Never left, Despite discomfort, It was worn, Though like a thorn. A price was paid For the right to bear Its seal, To fight the fight, To conquer the night, To prosper in life, To comfort his wife. I was young When my father stood Upon a stage and shook The hand of an academic man. Yet, like a thief, Death placed this ring Into my hand. It’s only a ring That is true; Yet, this ring I knew too.