Rusty Old Chain


While hiking in the woods,
I found a flimsy old shack.
It was hidden, covered with weeds.
Came upon an opening in the back.

While on my hands and knees,
I saw it on the floor.
It was lying among dust and webs,
under an old chest of drawers.

A chain of rusty old metal.
Was colored a crusty old brown.
Probably worth nothing to anyone,
nor to any pawn shop downtown.

An old wooden frame on the wall.
The picture inside was old and smelled.
A young girl, clothes all ragged and torn.
Around her neck, the chain I now held.

Inside the chest of drawers,
I found a dusty old book.
It was a diary from the young girl,
posing proudly in the picture she took.

He was poor and worked hard.
Her father worked the land.
The rusty old chain, a gift from him.
To her, it was regal and grande.

She cherished that old chain.
Wore it always, smiling with pride.
When as a child, she received it,
until old age, on the day that she died.

Her family never got it.
They would never understand.
They removed the chain from her,
for it was not regal and grande.

The metal was worth nothing,
but she wore it from young till old.
To her, the contents of it's cheap ore,
was worth more than any gold.

R. S. Morris

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This Poems Story

About a young girl receiving a necklace from her father who was very poor. The chain means more to her than anything else in spite of it just being a cheap metal chain