Precious

Not for me a diamond
or something made of gold
For I can find my treasure
in memories of old
Just walking through the harbour
where I wandered as a boy
has value beyond measure
and instils in me a joy

That history has substance
intangible maybe
But one which stores a value
which is firmly part of me
The pleasure of a memory
a recollection there
is as precious as a pot of gold
and one I’ll always share

Nostalgia is a precious thing
no one can take away
It can never be devalued
and will be there, come what may
But treasured though the past may be
it always takes a bow
to the forming of new memories
from the present, here and now

©Jemverse

Photo – the old fisherman’s beach, Albion Street, Southwick (West Sussex, UK). Now filled in with rubble and concrete to form a car park for the harbour master’s office.

Day 16 in the ‘Blogging from A-Z challenge‘