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Long forgotten, tucked away
High up on the shelf,
Pushed farther back with time...
I take it down,
from time to time,
just to remanice.
The wooden box
with its slotted top,
Gray and brown with age.
But it's what it holds,
That warms my heart,
And brings a smile to me.
The box contains the colors,
The colors of my youth.
Charcoals, paints and crayons,
all the colors here,
to paint and draw the best I could,
l didn't really care.
To hold them in my age worn hands,
And suddenly I'm transformed,
a child once again.
I close the lid, so gingerly,
not to break the clasp,
And put them back on the shelf,
where memories best are stored.
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the box of many colors
the box of many colors
