The Stamp-Collector

When she showed her stamp collection
To a boy of seventeen,
He flicked the corners of the pages,
As though to animate the Queen

‘The album’s worth more than the stamps!’
He drawled beneath a smarmy grin,
And thrust the book into her hands,
As though she was the garbage bin.

But each stamp holds a secret worth,
And all once held some treasured hope,
Or memories that stick to her,
More than sweet gum to envelope.

The first one brought a birthday card,
Her mother long since flown above.
Another soared on wings to her,
A cherished kiss from her true love.

A present for her wedding day,
Was carried by this valued square.
Another’s perforations bore
The locks of her son’s hair.

And though the final page is blank,
Some tiny jewels will stamp their mark,
For how can value be too cheap,
With things so dear to heart?

By Rob Houghton