While packing I notice, I see
The boxes scattered around me;
There’s nothing else, tables nor chairs,
Just memories stuffed in here and there…
This box you see, this one, it holds
That first date on a night so cold;
He sweetly walked me to my door–
This was the sweater that I wore.
This little box, it has some cards
That once had love, wishes, and hearts
I read them and they remind me
Of what once was…not meant to be.
That broken pan in that old box?
A souvenir from love long lost.
He slammed it when he was angry.
And that’s how that end came to be.
The white skirt suit and purple top,
I remember being in that shop,
I remember Mr. Busy
And how much he loved that on me.
But if I do want to move on
All this stuff has to be gone;
I’ll throw it out, give it away–
Except these shoes. They have to stay.
One time I skipped lunch for a week
So I could buy these pretty heels.
I even skipped a date or two:
The men didn’t compare to the shoe.