Treasured Memories

It’s that magical time of year

When loved ones meet to exchange

Those special gifts carefully chosen

To please, delight and amaze

 

Lovingly wrapped in festive paper

Gift tags sending love and kisses

Placed underneath the tree

Anticipation in present form

 

We take that risk of not achieving

That special surprise, just perfect

And hear those words and believe

You have realised your dream

 

 “It’s just what I’ve always wanted

Thank you, so very, very much

I don’t have anything else like it

I will treasure it forever, I promise.”

 

Another, un-wanted useless gift

Destined for the box in the attic

Where sad, un-loved pressies go

Hoping to find another home, one day

 

Every year, in December, the box appears

Each item has its’ memories of who and when

But probably not why, the gift was given

Looking at the presents, once given with love

 

The gold bracelet laden with sparkles,

From my very first boyfriend, age 11

I’m really a silver girl, no stones

So, it remains in its’ pretty box upstairs

 

Alongside it, a handknitted jumper

Nanna made, colourful but full of holes

Her eyes had ceased to see the perfection

She had once achieved with great success

 

A large, gauche vase, in coloured glass

My new-mother-in-law had gifted me

The very first Christmas day we spent

She said she was handing it down?

 

The beautiful lingerie my new husband

Bought, oblivious of size or shape

I keep it wrapped in coloured tissue

Perhaps one day it will actually fit

 

The gaudy brooch, my five-year-old

Had chosen especially for me,

Using his own pennies to pay

Feeling so proud and grown up

 

The gift, from my favourite boss at work

In recognition of the extra work and time

I’d spent to earn his respect and care

Now just a trinket, of little use

 

I remember, when Mum, no longer here

Gave me that purple scarf for Christmas

She said it would keep me warm in winter

And maybe brighten up my day

 

The picture frame, all fancy and ornate

From Dear Aunty Joan, God rest her soul

The book about cars, my Dad had bought me

When he first began to teach me to drive

 

The memories and love pour from the box

As a reminder to me, of how much I am loved

They will never find another home, re-gifted

As they are truly wanted here and treasured.

Discussion (0)

There are no comments for this doc yet.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.