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POETRY

The Locket

It was tarnished and old with a broken clasp.
I tossed it into the drawer.
Why did my mother give it to me,
And what would I want if for?

The years passed by
My little girl was going through my things,
Slipping bracelet on her arm
And trying on my rings.

“What’s this?”I heard my daughter ask
As she held it for me to see.
“Why,its just an old locket,” I replied,
“that your grandma gave to me.”

I saw it then through a child’s new eyes,
What I should have seen from the start,
The reason my mother treasure it so
And wore it close her heart.

Now when I’m tempted to look at the surface,
Discounting what’s broken or old,
I think of the locket all tarnished outside
With an inside of purest gold.

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