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The Box
There's a wooden box in my bedroom with a
rose carved on the lid.
It holds a life-time of memories - just things that might have
hid.
Cards, pictures, pony-tails, and teeth of kids and pets;
A comb, crafts, a cream-top spoon, and baby bracelets;
Pins for ties, hats and hair, notes printed by a tiny hand;
Antique silver cufflinks, feathers from a felt-fedora's band;
A music tuner, passport, thermometer of mother-of-pearl;
A shoe button-hook, a finger-wave clip - Mom's, when she was a
girl;
My Explorer pin, a nail file, elephants, and a tiny opal;
Dried berries on a little twig and my first dog's silent
whistle;
Crafts, coins from 'Settlers Days', a tiny Bible, too;
It was always in my mother's purse, measuring one-and-a-half
by two.
An old wrist-watch, still keeping time, beats like a heart
within,
Giving life to a hand-carved memory box and the treasures
stored within.
©Joan Adams Burchell
To Visit Joan Click Here
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