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The Necklace

A Poem by:

Eithne Cavanagh

Colourful Bar


Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent.

Each bead holds a tiny galaxy,

bubbles trapped forever

in hard clean roundness.


I still have the necklace

that you bought for me in Florence.

Its coppery orbs evoke the glass

my father candle-smoked

preparing for an eclipse.


I love the imperfection of the beads

and hold one high against the sun.

A shimmer frills the edge,

creates a dazzling halo.


The metal links still hold.

The clasp remains as strong

as on that languid night

you placed the beads around my neck,

a time of hope and tears.


Today my eyes need no shade.

Feelings fall like molten stars

and settle - a clear glazed sheet

with you in perfect focus.


Eithne Cavanagh
Copyright © 2002

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Copyright © 2002 K. Kianush, Art Arena