Recurring

Marguerite Young

Fold away your sorrows
In a pretty box.
Fold away your sorrows
Under two quaint locks.
Rats will never find them
To gnaw them through;
Nobody wants them—
They belong to you.
In the lonely darkness
You will find them yet;
You have not forgotten,
You will not forget.
Fold away your sorrows
Safe from moth and mould.
They were never purchased,
They cannot be sold.