NO ATTIC In my childhood home there was no attic just a space beneath the roof but there still were precious memories old shoe boxes held the proof. Stacked on shelves high in the closets bits and pieces of their lives old stained and faded photographs of my ancestors who had died. Mama would take the box down to me a special treat tell me stories about each person as I sat there at her feet. I traveled over many centuries experienced things I never would if not for those faded pictures and her voice that told the stories so very good. The house I live in has no attic no cobwebs or dusty floors but I still have all those memories stored just behind my closet doors. |
MY MEMORY BOX The haunting lyrics of an old love song take me back to yesterday I sit and stare out the window... sure is funny how time slips away. Seems I find myself here often In a time of days gone by I find comfort in those precious moments how fast those times did fly. There's a worn old box in my closet that holds a life time of memories on days when I'm down I open that box and those years come rushing back to me. Each item to me is a treasure and tells a story of it's own the love in this box I can't measure more precious than the rarest of stones. I sigh as I seal up the yesterdays of my children, my grandchildren and me but those long ago days will live on in that box when I too am just a memory. |
 |
 |