The glass rim ran wide,
Running with infinite depth,
Reflecting white light,
Spreading color o’er wide breadth.

Mark stared at the stem,
Polished, fine, without a scratch,
Arcing in a curve,
The clear glass, base and cup did match.

Anger broiled inside,
Sadness touched upon his eye,
Tears came rolling down,
And the man began to cry.

Standing at the door,
With a rock inside his hand,
Mem’ries of a gift,
Now the thought, he could not stand.

Open window near,
Walking over, taking aim,
At the glist’ning shell,
As his legs fell, he fell lame.

Anna’s husband smiled,
As the wife walked into view,
Handing her the cup,
Mark cried tears of pain, anew,

Having lost the only love he ever knew.