The Box in My Basement

There’s a box down in my basement
It’s not hidden far away
It’s a box that’s full of history
things from, well….another day
It sits there like a statue
Never opened, all forlorn
Holding pictures and their secrets
from a time when I weren’t born
It’s blue with brass side stapping
It takes up two cubic feet
It just sits there in the corner
Yelling…OPEN ME….but, be discreet
Love letters and photos
unfinished projects from the past
Newspaper announcements
Lots of things you want to last
It’s a box that is worth sharing
Stories living in a box
It sits there closed and oh, forgotten
It sits there closed, there are no locks
There’s few around who’ve seen the contents
Even less who know the names
Of people in all the pictures
It’s not just sad, it is a shame
The box is full of untold stories
A love story that should be heard
It’s written in two lovers writing
No need to translate, not a word
It is the tale of two fine people
Parents of my wife, they say
This box tells of Margaret and Charlie
They both are gone, before this day
It’s musty when you smell it
But, isn’t that how things should be
There’s school reports and lockets
A father lost when she was three
I think of them when I look at it
Artifacts stored for none to see
I never met them, but I miss them
They’d be proud of who she came to be
this box is Megan’s life force
It helped make her strong and proud
It shows she is an Edwards
The contents scream it really loud
there is a box down in my basement
It’ a box of writing, reams and reams
I look forward to our meeting
One quiet night inside my dreams
The people who filled up the inside
Are my family, though we’ve not met
I’d like to take this chance to tell them
Their girl is safe, they need not fret.

This is not fictional. The box does exist in my..OUR basement. Megan is my wife and the daughter of Charlie and Margaret. Charlie passed away when Megan was three years old and Margaret, when Megan was fifteen. They would surely be proud of her, as I am…..now, where to move this box?
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