The Box

I pick up yet another box;

it feels as if it's filled with rocks.

I see the things I've packed away

for just that special rainy day.

A journal, pages dark and torn;

my baby doll, her dress is worn.

A pile of petals lie inside

a velvet bag... long since dried.

I sit here on the floor and think

just when I'd worn this bracelet, pink.

A yearbook still looks new and fresh,

unlike the tattered Gilgamesh.

A stack of notes I'd passed in class

and an ornament that's made of glass.

This photograph, it stirs in me

a hearty laugh at what I see.

One by one, I take things out...

The mem'ries strong without a doubt.

Revealed are all those special things...

The lockets, bracelets, even rings.

But then, my heart, it skips a beat

and to my cheeks, a red and heat.

I'd thought it lost forever then.

Just where has this thing always been?

The envelope had been pressed flat.

At bottom of the box it sat.

A tiny card on which you wrote

the words that sent my heart afloat.

I hold the paper tenderly.

A tear, it falls for love of thee.

I may have lost the hope, it seems ,

but always will I have these dreams.