My fingers slip through five long strands
of precious pearls held in my hands.
Each perfect sphere both smooth and sleek
is firm when pressed against my cheek.
Each one is graded by its size
and strung on thread to mesmerize.
Such beauty, luminous and pure,
their simple shape has rich allure.
Ten silver clasp springs join to meet,
when draped around my neck sit neat.
She wore her pearls with charm and grace,
felt quite undressed if not in place.
Good taste met elegance and then,
'I'll not be wearing those again'.
In widow's weeds her joy had died,
bereft alone, dissatisfied,
she shed her pearls just like her tears.
Cast off, forgotten through the years,
now resurrected decades gone,
her necklace legacy lives on.