The Golden Box

How soon they forget.

Oh how their memories fail them

as they cast aside the loves of their past.

Never word nor deed come now-

No thought – No thanks –

Nothing but the silence

Silence which stares in darkness of an old man’s dreams.

The voices of their youth still ring like raindrops in his mind.

He still carries their laughter and tears within his ageing heart.

Yet how soon – oh so soon they forget with the passing of time.

They remember not how much they were to him from the very start. 

Yet now the day fast approaches and the worlds of yesterday and today collide.

The sunny skies of their youth turn their calling to the cold slate gray.

Then they remember; they now they in pondering hearts recollect…But…oh but now it is too late.

Gathered are they at last, now together as one.

Hymns soft calling on voices so sweet do sing…

“Amazing Grace and A Closer Walk With Thee.”

Then with the last flower laid, the ones who forgot now walk away.

They search their hearts and remember childhood dreams.

They recall those good times and how long ago it seemed.

They remember his assuring voice as he calmed their fears…

And on the mantel in the old man’s home they spy a golden box-

filled to the top, overflowing with all their childhood’s laughter and tears.

On that same mantel they see a picture of his smiling face.

Christmas day was it not…but when…maybe 1998?

Then one by one they pass around the box of gold…

Each reclaiming their laughter and tears to forever in their hearts hold.

J. Allen Wilson © 3/6/2011