Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Yesterday's gold
is so cold
til I slip it upon
my finger again

Then it burns
again so hot
I can't stop but
recall it all

And what it
meant to me
That's when I stop
and put the ring away

These days are
winter white
And far , far , too far
to say

Yesterday's gold
seems so cold
and it's best
kept that way

— The End —