The Box From The Attic Poem by Bill Mitton
The Box From The Attic
A Father's Medals World War One
The wrist band from a stillborn son
The first picture of the two (now three)
An Old Irish Fiddle, Left to me
My Rugby Jersey old and Blue
My Son’s first Rugby Jersey too
A silver frame, the self same smile
My wife’s Pennant (She ran the mile)
War department Telegram (a death)
My wife’s Mothers Christening dress
my first handcraft (a mat of reeds)
My Father’s Mothers Rosary beads
A picture of our son at play
a memento of my graduation day
My wife’s Pearl backed wedding book
Big Peter's number (what a crook)
The box is almost empty now
Forgotten memories, but how?
The pride, the Lose, the answered Call
The pain, the joy, I knew them all.
What a great collection of items to cherish. They don't have to be on the grand scale, or worth a lot of money, it's their representation that matters. Lovely momentos. Lovely poem too. Thanks for another of your super writes. Love Ernestine XXX
With each of your descriptions, I could see myself reaching into my own box (which I like to do every so often) and feeling just a bit of the emotion that would undoubtedly accompany the find. I guess that makes it a good poem. j.
Wonderful memories Bill, you incorporated them perfectly into your poem. 10 from, cherishing those momentos too. Smiling Tai
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 12:58:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A rare, unvarnished yet very moving catalog of what remains. Worth remembering. Mary Angela Douglas