Digging in the garden, ready to plant new roses down.

My shovel made a clank, I knelt to see what made the sound.

A small metal box rested there, the length and width of my size eight shoe.

I lifted it out with a smile, whispering, “who buried you?”

 

The lid opened after a few raps from the shovel through and through.

There was a faded picture, a young family smiling brave,

Letters filled the rest of the box, a glimpse into time past.

A childish scrawl when it began, it developed throughout the years.

A few tear stained letters, the writer could not stop the tears.

 

My cheeks wet too as I read the tragedies that struck them down one by one,

A family no more, or were they, I searched upon my phone.

Perhaps I could find one that remained, and help these letters find a home.