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Little Brown Box.


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Little box of memories

I keep it under the bed

It’s filled with birthday cards and little notes

of things you wish you’d said.


Pictures of me and you

and places we had been

Pictures of us together,

some you’ve never seen.


Little box of memories

hidden under the bed.

It’s filled with Christmas cards and little lists

from a life we wish we’d lead.


Old cinema tickets

and some clothes you use to wear

A bracelet and a token from a night at the fair


Little box of memories

It’s not much to show.

I never see in pictures

how your face used to glow.


It sits in the attic now, all dusty

It’s not that I don’t care.

It’s a little brown box.....


I don’t keep my memories there.

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Oh, I wouldn't call it "predictable", I'd just say there is always a meaning and a place the poem leads, whereas some poems just don't seem to intend much. I get these little tingles when you hit the punchline.


And everyone has a style!


But it's nice to mix it up....I find that's really hard. My "style" always wants to come back and be part of it. Like when I try to rhyme like you, I'm totally out of my element. I totally would love to rhyme like that but meh, it just doesn't have the flow.

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