my hands caress this withered old box
memories rush back as i trace the engraving with my fingure
Will the music still play, as in days of happiness,
or has it too lost its will to live
As i unhinge the tender latch like laying a loved one down to sleep,
my tears slip out of my eye, as i try to keep them in
Straining to hear the long gone music, i lift the lid of the box.
The sight my eyes meet makes me shut them tight
The box, so withered and old, the balarina inside, so dusty and creaky
The little figure of the young girl, still turns as in days of happiness,
though a little more forced.
The music still reaches my ears, so one thing has not lost its will to go
on
Through hard times, the music will always play on.
each day i open the box, to make sure that my memories still remain, and
that the music plays on

 
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