Vulpine souls that reach for the sky,
will always touch the sun.
Unless a prudent, earthbound bride,
holds the line they’ve spun.
She is my sturdy, mooring tie,
the place I rest my wings,
the gentle, glassy waters,
apart from stormy seas.
Mercury asks for a stable flask,
To keep it shiny, slick, and new.
Such a vital, crystal phial,
sits among the blessed few.
She is the gem that shapes herself,
against my jeweler's bench.
Whatever form she'll choose to take,
I wait with wrought suspense.
At the center of my world I'll lock
my lover’s great marquis.
No other shape can take her place,
that jewel who sculpted me.
...and another three.
A wedding ring is just so sparse,
without its stunning piece;
her lustre far outshines the stars,
for which I used to reach.
May she light my life of ours;
may she hold my silver string.
Happy Anniversary.
~Your humble, sterling ring.
