Lids of boxes full of dust.
Upstairs they sit collecting trinkets, tokens
As I ponder them with thoughtless lust.
What do these cardboard tombs hold each?
My minds desire remains untold
To learn what family relics teach
Those lost objects so forgotten and old.
Up beyond the second floor shaky hands
Do open ancient albums with faded photographs.
Pages fall together like soft yellow strands.
They whisper of family, they whisper of laughs.
Lost memories still remain up above my head,
Under dust and grey sheets still they tread.