The Locket

It sits in a wooden box on my windowsill,
The pure gold lies there,
Neglected
It’s been laying there since I could remember.
What’s inside I will never know,
I assume a picture of my nanna,
She died seven years ago.
Nobody can open it without breaking the locket.
Not a day goes by,
when it doesn’t race through my mind.
Although I feel I don’t need to know,
Love ones, secrets or family history,
I will never know,
But that’s part of the mystery.