a deep drawer
full of this and that
a little wooden box there
at the bottom
even older
than the old cigar box
it hides under
faded yellow ribbon
holds the lid
now slightly askew
tiny brass hinges
held loosely
by tiny brass brads
outline of a latch
long gone
bulging a bit
with yellowed pages
that look
to a curious eye
like letters of love
written long ago
tell me
what secrets do they hold
so dear?
Empty Garden 