Box Lots Poem by Lawerence Mize, Sr.

Life can be measured
By the good of our deeds
A spoken word, helping hand
A warm embrace when there's a need
It can be seen
In the confines of a box
Like so much junk thrown in
In an auction box lot
We accumulate stuff
As we go about our way
Sometimes forget
How it once made our day
The memories once shared
The love that shone through
And the heartache of a loss
That left us alone and blue
We take it all in
And keep all our stuff
A cup with a picture
That means so much
The stuff piles up
As the years go by
We fill the box
With the tears we cry
And then one day
On a warm summer's eve
An Auctioneer's gavel
Sells our dreams
Our memories get scattered
Dreams gone in a flash
Just junk in a box
That keeps getting passed