The Class Ring Poem by Larry Kimmel

I hold in my hand a ring. Moxium High.
Class of '58. The initials my own.
Within weeks, I'd left it by a public sink.
Loss noted and steps retraced—both

immediate, but... c'est la vie. Seven
years later it returned, having found
its way to the alma mater with its
postal pedigree, some half-dozen

other Moxiums. A worthy scholarship,
the particulars of that seven year odyssey,
which remains mute within the zero of
this prodigal trinket of youth, inanimate

wanderer, whose encircled secret rests
upon my palm, yet forever beyond my grasp.