The old wicker basket now is worn,
But still retains many memories;
Itís where litters of kittens were born,
And sent off to other families.
Prior to that, it served us quite well,
As a home to all our laundry.
Carried from the yard, how fresh the smell
Of sun-soaked towels and linen could be.
The basket is no longer of use,
With sharp and protruding wicker strips,
Where the ties are now all coming loose,
From jostling against Mamaís broad hips.
As if yesterday, I still see her,
With the basket balanced on her rump,
Until the new clothes dryer freed her
From that chore. Now, it goes to the dump.
Although, I admit itís with regret,
This loss of such a nostalgic thing,
A replacement we can surely get,
But memories, the new one wonít bring.