Waiting For The Box. Poem by Dan Reynolds

Waiting for the box.

Collecting her best China in the box,
she sensed she'd never see it, from that day.
Condemned to languish with her summer frocks
in dusty attic corners, left to fray.

She wondered who would find them when she'd gone,
who'd marvel at the history within?
Or would their interest lay more upon
the newspapers which they were wrapped up in?

These fragile treasures, swiftly stored away
lest children's fingers carelessly may roam.
The next time they might see the light of day,
she'd probably be living in a 'home'.

She stopped, she smiled, she giggled to herself...
then plopped that China back up on the shelf.