Come, look with me inside this drawer,
                       In this box I've often seen,
                At the pictures, black and white,
                     Faces proud, still, serene.
                      I wish I knew the people,
                    These strangers in the box,
                Their names and all their memories
                      Are lost among my socks.
                  I wonder what their lives were like,
                    How did they spend their days?
                  What about their special times?
                       I'll never know their ways.
                    If only someone had taken time
                  To tell who, what, where, or when,
                      These faces of my heritage
                       Would come to life again.
                      Could this become the fate
                    Of the pictures we take today?
                       The faces and the memories
                      Someday to be passed away?
                      Make time to save your stories,
                  Seize the opportunity when it knocks,
                   Or someday you and yours could be
                        The strangers in the box.




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