memory in a box

I overheard an old fella
talk about his memories
the ones he brought out
each springtime blooming ....
he kept 'em in a box
safe from the frosts of bitterness
away from the petulant story tellers

and when he scented the daffies
that blew in from the hill
be they earlier each year
with earnest he said
It's time to bring 'em out
dust the old boys down
and give them a damn good airing

where was I when ....
remember the time ...
those were the days ...
oh how I felt ....

good,bad, sad and exhaltant
thoughtful, dreamy or whimsical
there they were
hung out to dry
living a bit ...
all over again

the problem he said
as I stretched out an ear
is that the box gets bigger
and bigger each year

what a strange fella
I remember I said
I'd rather keep mine
wrapped up in my head