Old photographs, five in all,
unknown faces in black and white,
a frayed and faded ribbon, the palest of greens
with blonde hair trapped tight within a knot,
coloured beads, and a stone with an hole in it,
probably picked up on some secluded beach
or romantic stroll.

Two ivory pegs, cribbage perhaps,
a silver locket and chain, hallmarked,
a faded fragile train ticket stating that the sum
of one shilling and sixpence had been duly paid,
where did she go on that day, I wonder.

A letter addressed to Emily from Sis, the
loveliest hand writing I think I have ever seen,
an art long gone, Sis is so sorry that she
could not attend Emily’s father’s funeral,
but sends her love.

Every item in this dusty box which had been
lovingly covered in a floral patterned material
must have held special memories
of treasured times for Emily.
I smile warmly, as I replace the lid,
keeping her secretes secret…..forever.