NOTHING BUT CARDBOARD

I would like to keep my stuff in a chest
One that was steel-banded oaken wood
Rigid and lockable, with a big iron key
But it’s a regular cardboard box for me
And I’d even use a metal safe if I could
But appearing as modest might be best

It never was planned to survive for years
And true that damp could shorten its life
On one side I do already see slight stains
But is dry enough inside for all it contains
The old memories of both joy and strife
Yet hard copies are still valued, it appears

All the ***** on top don’t meet anymore
A bit like the people in the photos there
Those I loved, back in my younger days
Moved on is now the much-used phrase
But each when dug out, is worth a stare
There’ll be some I’ve forgotten I’m sure

This cardboard box will not last too long
Now torn and creased, somewhat like me
But clearing the attic, cardboard will burn
To others, such memories of no concern
Viewed as trash, as far as anyone may see
If we cremate bodies, why is that wrong