Circle Poem by Don Longshore

Cold metal, cut glass, a little piece of stone,
Unless all brought together, they are nothing, all alone.

But when the craftsman melds them, joins elements as one;
That's when the circle forms, but the work is still not done.

Even as a work of art, the circle is meaningless,
It requires something else…and it resides inside the chest.

For when the heart is given thru this tiny token ring,
It becomes a symbol, a talisman, of what is the greatest thing.

I become yours, and you become mine…
All with a circle, see how it doth shine.