Strangers

Come, look with me inside this drawer,

In this box I've often seen,

At the pictures, black and white,

Faces proud, still, serene.

I wish I knew the people,

These strangers in the box,

Their names and all their memories,

Are lost among my socks.

I wonder what their lives were like,

How did they spend their days?

What about their special times?

I'll never know their ways.

If only someone had taken time

To tell who, what, where, and when,

These faces of my heritage

Would come to life again.

Could this become the fate

Of the pictures we take today?

The faces and the memories

Someday to be tossed away?

Make time to save your pictures,

Seize the opportunity when it knocks,

Or someday you and yours could be

The strangers in the box.

Note: Pamela Harazim is an RN in Connecticut. She was a Creative Memories Scrapbook consultant when she wrote the poem.