Carm's Ring

Snug on a woman's finger
Hands withered and worn
Clasping tea in fine china, to keep her hands warm.
Witnessed a lifetime, till death called her name.
The ring's on my finger
Is the story the same?
My fist wraps around it
Hold memories so dear
Now,
my hands worn and withered,
type words one by one
on loan to me, this ring.
It is like a book,
Borrowed
from the library.