I have a battered old shoebox
where I keep my priceless stocks
black and whites and old regret
all the things I can't forget
there you'll find a cockle shell
a postcard claiming all is well
also ear and finger rings
a feather dropped by angel wings
you wonder why I kept this stuff
but memories are not enough
you'll see as old age comes around
with days gone by no longer found
then you may have a shoebox too
with bits and pieces of déjà vu
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem