Timid, I reach for centuries
old carved,
mistreated cedar.
Slowly creak by creak,
uncovering
a photo, mother and child.
A rusty empty
locket free from broken
links and a tissue marked,
cherry kiss.
Held close,
this
prize in your departure;
treasure to remain.
Author notes
I won gold for this one in a contest where...I was given someone else short piece--
Treasures - By~ StarFields
Shyly, the child
raised the lid
of the battered box
to reveal
a small feather,
a stone and a piece
of ruby glass.
and had to write my own piece..the only instruction given was to use imagery, metaphors amost important depth..
I dare say I think I did go deep with mine taking an angle of a box of things holding memories of a mother passed etc ...
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