I’m looking through a box of memories
Photographs and knick-knacks and things
They take my mind right back to the old days
When everyday flew away on wings.
But now I’m slowing down and my memory
Needs a little nudge now and then
I see a brand new face in that old suitcase
And I wonder if it is me or them?
I recognize my children. They were tiny.
I wonder what they look like now?
Some people keep on calling to see me
They call me Mom; they seem to know me somehow.
I think I only saw them yesterday
I would know them if they really were my kids
But they are not my own just look how they’d have grown
The pictures in my case are my real kids.
So I’m looking through a box of my memories
My memory isn’t what it used to be
But I’m as sharp as a tack with these things that I packed
Only yesterday, or so it seems to me.