When I was a little girl,
Long, long ago and far away,
My Auntie J did give to me,
A memory jar, oh so pretty.


She told me as we did sit alone,
This is your own memory jar.
Guard it and take good care of it,
For it will be your link to the past.


So I looked at this blue and white jar,
And I did put my hands on it.
Suddenly a warm feeling I had,
I could see myself losing a tooth.


Then one day when the mumps I did have,
I went back to my memory jar,
Sat down, and grasp it I did,
And I rememberd me and grandma making cookies.


Yes, my memory jar is important to me,
It does link me to the past.
It makes me happy, it makes me soar,
For I do and can see how I was raised.


So now I am in my eighty-second year.
My eyes are slow and grow dim.
Whom shall I pass my memory jar on to,
Whose life shall I raise a notch or two?


Should it be Jim's little Jill?
Or Cleo's little fat Bill?
Or maybe Mary Eva, or Cynthia -
Or should I just take it to heaven with me?




By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)

 

 

 

 



Watch these pages for more poems by Tom.
In the meantime, click the links below for other poems and stories by the authors at Lara's Den.


The Fountain

March Is Nigh

March Wind

Fickle Spring

The Social Worker

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Golf Syndrome

The White Picket Fence


And.......for many others, click the index image.



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