My Box

I have a box.

It is one my Grandaddy gave me.

It used to be his.

It had a broken lid.

We glued it back together.

It's been full.

It's been empty.

Things have been added.

Things have been removed.

It holds wonderful memories.

And things I'd rather forget.

Joys I cherish.

And mistakes from which I learned.

Loss is in the box.

Gain is in there too.

Bittersweet days.

Beautiful nights.

Sometimes it gathers dust.

Sometimes I use it to remember.

It was my Grandaddy's box.

It held his memories.

Now it is My Box.