A poem of remembrance
What becomes of those old cherished things
Handed down from those long gone
A lock of hair pressed in a book
My grandma prayed upon
What changes our perspective now
We never cared before
The truth be told as we get old
The past means so much more
You search through every messed up drawer
To find the watch your mother wore
To hold what once was precious to
That soul each day said “I love you”
She gave without the slightest thought
She always found a way that taught
She made up when you seldom fought
She was the chosen few
So as we search to find our past
Knowing we may be the last
To learn from things our past can bring
From all those old cherished things.
— WOLRAD(A poem from the Wolrad collection #75)
