"Home Made Assortment"

I don't remember the chocolates - half a pound.
I'm sure I will have had my share, they'd be passed round.
But the box! That was mine alone to keep.
It housed my cows and horses, plastic pigs and sheep.

The metal bull with one hoof raised was hard to fit.
Putting him in first would help me close the lid,
Whose sides were as deep as the box itself - so cool!
As satisfying as my cardboard 'tidy box' at school.

This tattered box has had its day: it goes!
I can touch it any time - it's in my toes,
My hands, my head, my very being.
And memory's often clearer than the seeing:

This shabby box I lift inside one hand,
When once it needed two. It's far less grand
Than how it seemed to me when, safe from harm,
I'd carefully stow away my precious farm.

poem © Celia Warren 2014

This box has not only delivered an unexpected poem, but it's also saved me from blipping birds on the new feeder yet again! The bluetits and great tits were all over it today, with occasional visits from the robins. They've suddenly decided it's their favourite new diner!

Went down to the empty house this afternoon and robin sought me out. We had a long conversation, literally taking it in turns to 'speak', while he kept staring me out. Eventually, he won me over. I popped to the post-office shop and bought a bag of nuts. Gave him some and filled the feeder there. He came and tucked in straight away. How can such a tiny bundle of beak and feathers make someone feel so guilty of neglect?!

It's been a gorgeous sunny, blue-skied day, but with a sharp wind. Picked up my favourite shoes newly-heeled. Had my annual eye-test and, apart from my eyes being rather dry, my eyesight's not changed much. The main thing is that there are no signs of glaucoma (my one dread since my father had it). All well for another year.

I did come away with a spray, though, as the optician said my eyes were very dry. It's sprayed on to the closed eyelids and the relief is instant. My eyes are a lot happier now. (It'll help clear the dust of ongoing clutter-clearing, which, I notice, I was talking about this time last year - and the year before that. Will it never end? I am making progress, honest-injyun! And I don't write a poem about everything I throw out!)