The things we keep, the trinkets we save,
Just little reminders, from those that gave.
A string of beads, or silly pet rocks,
Down in the basement, in an old shoebox.
Unknown treasures, of the people we knew,
One day discovered, when their life was through.
Where’d they come from? what did they mean ?
Were they really kept, just to go unseen ?
A paper necklace, an old spoon ring,
Not one little note, to tell anything.
We look at them now, but no one will say,
If we should keep them, or throw them away.
Keepsakes
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