Her last wish

A mother passes

Her ring to her son,

‘Make sure I’d approve

Of whose finger it’s on!’

She lies and waits

Trying not to persuade,

As to his who he chooses

The ring to parade.

Will she be good to him?

Is all that she asks,

He sees this as

A gargantuan task!

As his mother his

Saviour, his true first love,

Goes up to the heavens

And looks down from above.

For the ring he chooses

A suitable mate,

He sits and he wonders

Would she love or hate?

The ring passed down

From generation to generation,

He looks through the crowd

The invited congregation.

His one true love

Has been and passed since,

So his bride that he chooses

He need not convince.

She watches and sees

Although she has passed,

She nods and agrees

He has done what she asked!