Most everybody has a
place
To keep their treasured
things,
A box, a chest, a trunk, a
case,
For anything and
everything.
Mementos kept throughout the
years,
Reminders of good folks, good
times,
Old photographs, pressed flowers,
perhaps,
Or precious, faded
valentines.
A mother saves a baby's
curl.
And ties it with a pretty bow.
Then wraps it carefully in velvet,
As if it were a piece of gold.
A yellowed glove recalls young love,
A tarnished medal, a hero dad,
A set of keys, a first new car,
A baby shoe, a little lad,
What's rich to me may be trash to you,
But I'll keep my treasures in my box.
And the things you value that I don't,
You'll keep secure and under lock.
Who determines what is
treasure?
Who decides the scale to
use?
How does one assess a value?
Which is richer - old or new?
There are those who rate an item,
By how much the object costs,
Which means it can be bought or
sold,
And sentiment is long since
lost.
Sometimes the value of a
present
Is not based at all upon the gift,
But is judged wholly
on the donor,
And not a bit on what it
is.
The more somebody loves
one,
The higher the value
grows,
That's when a gift becomes a
treasure,
And is placed within a box
to hold.
Then this valued treasure box
Is put away on a dusty shelf,
In a cupboard or a closet,
In a safe place by itself.
But often such a
box gets lost,
Over time, down through the
years,
It's simply gone; it can't be
found,
It has completely
disappeared.
Rather than cry about one's
loss,
It's time to
recognize,
The heart is man's true treasure
box,
And that's where treasures really lie.
Safe and secure within one's heart,
No treasures there will ever age,
Nor will they ever fade or break,
Nor ever, ever stray.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright April 2004
