I have a rustic box of simple design,

an old trunk made from knotty pine.

The locks are broken and I've never owned the key,

but the contents are priceless, if only to me.

When I open the lid, I can travel through time;

and re-live the exciting history that is mine.

In each keepsake a memory is contained;

with a story to heirloom to explain.

Tiny pearls the tooth fairy hid away,

locks of baby-fine hair the barber cut one day.

Halloween masks once excitedly worn,

hand-made cards with edges now torn.

Time can't silence the impromptu laughs,

that are revealed in faded photographs;

or erase the bitter teardrop stains,

on faded letters that caused me pain.

Flowers pressed between pages of a book,

stones brought back from a walk we took.

All symbols of the life God gave me and blessed,

each a precious gem in my treasure chest.

Copyright 2001 "Tapestry"

by Gina Hatchell

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