There they found it,
Where she’d left it,
Tucked behind the tins and jars.
A lifetime held within a moment,
A secret trove,
They dare not open.
Buttons cut from every garment,
He had worn throughout their union,
Simple shirts to army greatcoats,
Brass and bone and wood and leather,
Each one held a magic measure,
Provided her a priceless treasure.
Now she’s gone,
They’ve lost their lustre.
The thread is broken,
Disconnected,
Partial stories,
Recollected,
Cannot fill the button jar.
Dedicated to Frank and Mabel Aitkenhead
