Off the coast of Normandy I descended with other divers
to examine the HMS Swift, sixty-nine years sunken.
Mission was dog tags and a settling of a family's concern.
We found what was needed after three days of work.
-- A task the wealthy have the means to pay for.
On that day we finally breached the kitchen area.
Youthful men once gobbled grub and pondered death
in the adjoined mess. There I reached for a ring.
Once on the finger of a soldier, now in my satchel.
An inscription later revealed the grateful recipient.
Last night as I searched for a pair of fresh socks I
mistakenly opened your drawer. Under panties I found
a wedding ring I know I never gave you. No inscription.
I sank it back in, choosing in that submerged moment
to not question a mystery I would rather not know about.
-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --