THE LITTLE GOLD RING

THE LITTLE GOLD RING

My mam and dad bought me a child’s gold ring when I was one,
They had no savings, so I know it must have been hard for them,
It sat upon a shelf inside our living room for years,
I don’t think I ever wore it, but it was bought with love and care.

When my eldest girl was two years old, I begged my mam one day,
Against her will she gave it me, until she finally said okay,
I wanted it for my little girl, I wanted her to wear the ring,
The tiny piece of love my mam and dad had managed to bring.

I worked twelve-hour shifts on buses, getting up at two a.m.,
At eighteen, on a scary lonely road, I stood alone again,
Waiting for the works pick-up bus, in darkness, cold and fear,
I cried so much before I left the house, just walking there.

One winter day I came back home, a lovely fire was burning bright,
My baby sat upon my knee, and for a moment, things seemed right,
Then she said, “Daddy naughty, Mummy… he put my ring on fire,”
“No,” I said, “he would be joking,” though my heart began to tire.

But no, he wasn’t joking, and he looked at me and said,
“Your fucking ring is gone,” and something inside me bled,
“Who in their right mind puts a gold ring on a child?” he said,
And I started crying, thinking what my mam and dad would say.

I put my little girl down in her playpen, then I walked his way,
I only went to ask him why, I only asked him why that day,
But he punched me so hard, I stumbled from the room,
And heard him coming after me, as fear began to bloom.

I ran upstairs in terror, and locked the bedroom door,
I was hysterical and crying, my heart could take no more,
My lip was split and bleeding, my own blood marked my skin,
I sat there crying out my eyes, with everything closing in.

Eventually I went downstairs, I couldn’t stay inside,
He left for the pub to drink and gamble all my wages away that night,
Then went to meet a woman, one of the many others he had,
While I was left with all the pain, and all the fear I carried.

I never told my mam and dad the truth of what had happened there,
I never told them he had burned the ring they bought with care,
I simply said it was upstairs, inside my wardrobe, safe,
And hid the truth from mam and dad, and carried it away.

The bruises fade, the blood dries up, the years can pass you by,
But memories hurt in places that no one else can find,
And scars don’t always heal just because the skin looks fine,
For somewhere in my heart still burns that little golden ring of mine