THE TREASURE BOX
Most everybody has a place
To keep their treasured things,
A box, a chest, a trunk, a case,
For anything and everything.
Mementos kept throughout the years,
Reminders of good folks, good times,
Old photographs, pressed flowers, perhaps,
Or precious, faded valentines.
A mother saves a baby’s curl.
And ties it with a pretty bow.
Then wraps it carefully in velvet,
As if it were a piece of gold.
A yellowed glove recalls young love,
A tarnished medal, a hero dad,
A set of keys, a first new car,
A baby shoe, a little lad,
What’s rich to me may be trash to you,
But I’ll keep my treasures in my box.
And the things you value that I don’t,
You’ll keep secure and under lock.
Who determines what is treasure?
Who decides the scale to use?
How does one assess a value?
Which is richer – old or new?
There are those who rate an item,
By how much the object costs,
Which means it can be bought or sold,
And sentiment is long since lost.
Sometimes the value of a present
Is not based at all upon the gift,
But is judged wholly on the donor,
And not a bit on what it is.
The more somebody loves one,
The higher the value grows,
That’s when a gift becomes a treasure,
And is placed within a box to hold.
Then this valued treasure box
Is put away on a dusty shelf,
In a cupboard or a closet,
In a safe place by itself.
But often such a box gets lost,
Over time, down through the years,
It’s simply gone; it can’t be found,
It has completely disappeared.
Rather than cry about one’s loss,
It’s time to recognize,
The heart is man’s true treasure box,
And that’s where treasures really lie.
Safe and secure within one’s heart,
No treasures there will ever age,
Nor will they ever fade or break,
Nor ever, ever stray.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright April 2004