By Olivia Ring

 

A lustrous pearl I hold, formed from amour.
The pearl calls out, its voice drawing me in.
It whispers a future, one of grandeur.
Its fortune glimmers: a gleam shines herein.

        I’ve heard the tales of its certain flight.
        I could keep it, the pearl, harness its strength.
        I ignore the warnings out of pure spite.
        Extending my arms, I admire at length.

In line with fate, the pearl escapes my palms
I reach out — I miss — it’s gone in this storm.
My heavy heart bursts; the feeling won’t calm.
(They say, from within, a new pearl will form.)

        So with sorrow and woe, I watch the tides.
        In my hands lies a sphere, my grief subsides. ■