 
My Grandmother's Trunk
I thought about my grandmother's old trunk today,
Of how I used to open it up to play.
There was no bridal lace that had yellowed with age,
No old books with edges torn from turning a page.
But there were memories that she placed there with care,
Like a locket that grand dad gave her that held a lock of his hair.
The photos weren't in albums the way I keep mine now,
They were scattered all over but she knew each one somehow.
I asked her many questions about the things in the trunk,
"Oh child," she said, "it's only precious to me, to most it would be junk."
There was an old unfinished quilt that she never had found time to do,
Several tiny woolen blankets and some baby shoes too.
There was an old family bible with the cover near worn away,
She always picked it up gently and placed it out of my way.
We shared some happy talks there as I looked through her past,
To me the trunk was magic and it's spell had been cast.
I still think about the old trunk when I pass the spot where the house stood,
I wish I could still find something that could make me feel that good.
I knew I was loved and that my grandmother was there,
Now I find solace in saying her name in my prayers.
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