It was old, carved and made of wood
For years at the foot of her bed it stood
We never ever thought to look inside ..
On the night she died,
It passed to me
I opened it … and there did see
A collection of my mother’s memories.
On the inside lid she’d listed
All that she had done with Da
Before he passed away
The good times and the bad
The happy and the sad
Things he didn’t want to do
But she did them anyway.
On four sides, carved in white
She noted down with pride
The dates and times of things that we had done
From school, to bat and ball
My mother could recall
The achievements of her daughters and her son.
On the bottom was a picture of Da
When he was young
Outside this place that we call our home
Many nights I saw my mother down upon her knees
Crying softly as her tears fell
In her box of memories.
Well now that she has gone,
I do as she had done
Write down those things that mean a lot to me
For her memories done by hand
I now clearly understand
The treasure that my mother left
Inside a box for me.
On her anniversary each year
A special time for us
My sisters sit upon my bed and open up her box
We smile and laugh,
And sometimes cry
At those things that she held dear
While her love moved all around us
Like it did in yesteryear.
It was old and carved and made of wood
Just a box for all to see …
But inside it held a lifetime
Of my mother’s memories.
Originally posted 2007-07-07 16:14:05. Republished by Blog Post Promoter