The Old Music Box

The Old Music Box

It played a tune so soft, so low,

It seemed to breathe, to hum, to cry,

The lid was cracked, the paint was worn,

But still it sang when time went by.

I found it in a dusty chest,

Beneath old lace and yellowed dreams,

Its notes like whispers through the years,

Each one a bridge across the seams.

The song it played was sweet and sad,

Of lovers lost, of youth once dear,

And when it stopped, I turned the key,

Just to keep the ghosts near.

Now every night I let it play,

Its melody a living thread,

And though the room is empty now,

The past still dances with the dead.