The Bottle Neck
Yes, it's an offshoot from the myrtle you gave me, the day after my betrothal. I was going to have my own bridal bouquet made of it, when the year was up, but that day never came. Those eyes that were to have been my light and joy throughout life were closed; at the bottom of the sea he sleeps sweetly, the angel. The myrtle grew until it was like an old tree, but I aged even more; and when it withered I took the last fresh shoot and set it into the ground, and now that shoot is like a tree, and at last it shall serve at a wedding, as a bridal bouquet for your daughter!"
And there were tears in the old maid's eyes; she spoke again of the friend of her youth and of their betrothal in the woods; she thought of the toasts that had been drunk, thought of his first kiss - but she said nothing about that; she was an old maid now.
She thought of so many things, but little did she think that just outside her window was a remembrance of that time, the neck of that very Bottle which had said "pop!" when its cork had been pulled out for the drinking of the toasts. The old Bottle didn't know her either, for it hadn't listened to what she had said, partly - in fact, chiefly - because it thought only of itself.