Behind every button in my button box
Is a story that each longs to tell.
Of places they've been and people they've seen
If they could just speak, they'd say it so well
Reds and yellows, shiny or blue
Some of them old, some of the new.
On clothes that were worn, so tattered and torn.
Or fancy with lace; not one would disgrace.
A discarded shirt, a vest or a coat
Some of them grand, some of little note.
A dress that ontime was home-sewn
Now is discarded and long outgrown.
Adorned, admired, now shopworn and tired,
No longer useful, they now are retired.
Those days of glory, all gone in the past
They lie down deserving a long rest at last.
As I close down the lid on my button box I say,
"We had a fine time together back in out day"
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