Music Box

A young boy stopped near the chair
Where the old man sat, quiet and still
He asked, “Can you tell me the story?
Tell me again, if you will?”

The old man nodded, coughing a bit
Sipping his water, he peered at the boy
Decades of color painted his memories
And his voice grew strong with joy:

“Softened the morn she did with a whisper
The sun’s furtive touch, one trembling ray
Halting her steps, she bathed in its glow
And Nature she woke every day

Our days were adventures
Our nights were like dreams
We were thankful for memories
That grew easily, it seems

But the timekeeper caught her
And left me alone
All those memories mine
To cherish, to own”

“But you always remember,
Old as you are
Those memories, they…
They never seem far?”

The old man smiled at
The boy’s earnest talk
He was truly old,
It even hurt to walk

“I built a music box in my mind
To hold thoughts of her as I aged
The timekeeper’s march fell weak
For her memories a strong fight waged

When I think of her on my own
Or when kin like you think to ask
I visit that music box quick
And I set it to its task

When I open its lid
She springs into view
And her words are a melody
That I hear, anew

It plays me her voice
It beckons, her call
She recounts the memories
Or, nothing at all.”

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