My mother always held close Her keepsakes of great pain. I never understood why She held those things of shame. When she died we threw them out With hurried hands we moved. Now I have my own keepsakes And claim my heart is soothed. When I die they'll throw mine out And always wonder why. Why did I keep these things close These things that make me cry?
Wow-- this one really struck deep with me... my mom passed away 5 years ago now and just a couple of days ago, I was checking through a box in what was her room, and found some old momentos of hers-- this is eerie, really, to read your poem! It inspires feelings of sadness, mixed with joy in me, remembering how wonderful my mom was. Thank you.
This one hit close to home. I recently gave my ten year old daughter a scrap book that I had tenderly kept since age 16, the beginning of an era with her father. It has no heart strings attached anymore for me, but it helps show her that there once was a love that was the beginning of her. She now can understand that we haven't always fought or been enemies. Time does heal all wounds!