Precious Keepsake, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Precious ObjectPrecious Keepsake, Federico Andreotti (n.d.)

Precious Keepsake

His mind and body are agedly weak
Yet each day eagerly tends to his sheep
Each night takes a precious box to his seat
And rocks in rhythm until he falls asleep
The key to the box hangs around his neck
Not known the last when it was in the lock
Years passed since anyone bothers to check
For his only company is his flock

Is he an old miser hoarding his gold
To him can there be something more precious
His lips tight as a clam and never told
People of the past asked and left anxious
He is now dead leaving me box and key
Nothing included on how to dispose
In my rocker with box upon my knee
Key in hand listening to his echoes