It sits on the kitchen window cill

Of the seventh house we have called home

 

It reminds me of its owner

 

And of the nurturing she bestowed

 

It’s nothing much to look at

A watering can and tiny garden tools

 

In a charity shop it would be overlooked

But in my heart, it’s a chest of jewels

 

It really is quite useless

It’s porous with no holes in the spout

 

But should you try to remove it

I’m likely to rip your eyes right out

 

It’s never the cost of the gift

In which the value’s to be found

 

It’s in the memories that it evokes

Of someone no longer around