It sits upon my dresser
Never has been touched
Never taken from its leisure
Never has been brushed
By gentle hands it has yet to be
Cradled with concern
But, hands I fear it shall not see
Upon its intricate form
It sits upon my dresser
Never seen the day
Never has it known pleasure
Ever shall it stay
Like the wedding band
It sits, awaiting hands so old
To take it from its golden stand
To unfurl its yellowed folds
But, like my heart
It is destined to wait
With eagerness so stark
My heart has leapt onto the shelf
It too awaits the dark