The Old Brooch
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Once upon a time, I was created by an 18th century jeweler,
but I do not remember his name because of course I am very old;
for a while, I lay on a satin cushion in a high style store,
although just made of glass and silver, I was still quite expensive.
Then, one bright day a nice gentlemen came in to buy a gift,
he explained to the clerk it was a birthday present for his new wife;
he was shown many pieces until they came to me,
and he exclaimed, oh yes, this is perfect, I will take it, please.
His wife adored me, oh I love the flowers in sparkling glass,
of pink and diamonds, I am going to put it on my new hat;
and there I stayed for years and years till she at last died,
I lay on a closet shelve gathering dust until her daughter found me.
She cleaned me gently and pinned me to her wool jacket,
and I got tons of compliments when we went out shopping together;
she never forgot me and touched me often with great love,
then, she died suddenly . . . and I was given to a charity store.
It was a terrible place, and I just lingered there sad and alone,
until a girl with raven hair picked me up and said oh how pretty;
she took me home- now I live on her dresser . . . . loved.
__________________________
April 13, 2018
Poetry/Personification/The Old Brooch
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1012-723-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Bring To Life
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
Fourth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2018
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