The Box, Where Remembrances Are Kept Poem by james watkin
The Box, Where Remembrances Are Kept
On its plinth, behushed, at hall's end
Beneath clock, coaxed backward
Privet-pungent, in its own
Sighed out light's thin regard.
At day's sagging end, dredging up
More dust, shuffling, each nears
Its emotional-responsive charge
As with priest's holy fears.
Filling up for yore, propelled rough
Perpetual mud, that was
So light held what were golden times!
So thoughtless, a gemmed mass!
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5/18/2024 5:50:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
