Wooden Box

Two precious people,

One small wooden box

- One small, young, innocent,

The other grown.

Mother, daughter, grandmother.

Both knew suffering

And both knew love.

Together now,

They dream.

They dream of the future,

Watch the unfolding 

Of all the lives they touched.

Now they must live 

Through me,

Through my brother,

Through my son,

Through generations yet to come.

I feel my mother's eyes in mine,

Watching my son

As she watched over her daughter.

I know they are there,

  And that is good enough.