Boxes
It was a small box, all made of wood
In it were the letters; she’d saved all she could
A simple box of cedar with a small brass clasp
In it were the letters; in it was the past
Notes of sweet innocence, notes of young love
Long letters of the blessings they shared from above
She kept the box safe; she kept it from harm
In the drawer, in the closet, in the house on the farm
But the day had come; the moment was here
She took the box from the drawer, from the closet with fear
And read through the letters…
Those notes of sweet innocence, the notes of young love
Through long letters of blessings they’d shared from above
She trembled now and wept again
As she read through the words now of sorrow and pain
When the last page fell from her fingers to the floor
She took the bottle of pills from the drawer
While she floated away on the pills and the tears
She dreamed of lost love of so many years
It was a simple box, all made of wood
In it was the woman who’d held on as long as could
- Michael W. May
April, 1990
Fairly juvinile, but still one of my favorites. The Evelyn McHale picture, story, and comments made me remember this.
