Poem written by Robert Scott Morris on Sunday 22, September 2019

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Going in to the basement and finding the Hav-A-Tampa boxes.

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Along the walls are shelves of boxes, in the basement of our family home, Daddy stacked the boxes neatly together. They've been there for years all alone. The boxes are like tiny museums, that will soon be opened at last. Used to hold cigars from Hav-A-Tampa. Now they have artifacts from the past. The lids are doors to the gateways. They hold secrets soon to befell. Each box is opened and examined. Each one contains stories to tell. Some hold bolts, nuts and washers, that kept past race cars together. These fasteners, now in retirement. Their days of racing gone forever. Another door held electronics, a radio that worked now and again. It was home built and received only A.M, but that's really all there was back then. The next door contained ribbon. It seemed to be ribbons of brass. Was used to hold together, the rainbow colors of working stained glass. Every door revealed items, we had totally forgotten about. From a swiss army knife to an 8 track of Ozzy, I'm sure he intended to throw that out. What made opening the boxes so special, was not the items or mysteries inside. Was not the artifacts revealed, they were just objects from a past life. Memories of our family together, were triggered as the lids were raised. The aroma of the Hav-A-Tampa's, brought us back to our childhood days. R. S. Morris

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    This has a very endearing message. I understood what you were trying to convey but I had trouble picking up it's rhythm. I neither write nor read much poetry so this could just be an issue with me. Regardless I enjoyed it.
    lol I remember my dad having both cigar boxes and jars of nails, screws, nuts, and bolts over his workbench.

    Oh, I smoked until 1990, and then I quite for good. Hav-A-Tampa was one of the worst cigars in creation. At least the boxes were useful. Grin
    Very good story.