Peeling light from the table.
To carry in my pocket.
A single moment captured,
An old friend to be kept in a jar.
Pressed between the leaves,
Of an aged and crumbling scrapbook.
To be viewed by the Grandchildren on rainy weekends.
My musty reminder of the sunny old days as a boy.
The pages faded now,
But the little slip of joy as bright as the youngsters' wide eyes.
Maybe they'll inherit one day.
The delicate sliver of sunlight.
