The Old Brooch

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