Sat on the rug in our living room
Her face a picture of delight,
My infant daughter lifts the lid
Of an old wooden box.
A treasure chest! What waits inside?
Pirate gold or a hoard of gems,
Ancient scrolls or spices rare,
Or perhaps a secret map?
The box is old and made by hand,
Its surface worn by years of use,
With signs of its maker's craft incised
In careful lines around the joints.
Its latest discoverer's eyes light up
At what she finds inside:
A wealth of buttons, colours bright,
Of every shape and size.
And yet more treasures wait for her:
A curtain hook, a piece of chalk,
Hairgrips, buckles, safety pins
And an old school badge.
I sit and watch my daughter play
With a smile upon my lips
As memories of another time
Fill my eyes with happy tears
I think of when I was the child
With eyes brimful of wonder
Sitting on the floor to play
With my mother's button box.