Covered in dust just waiting
to be touched.
Old and withered
yet new and unspoken.
Sides torn,
but still intacked,
never to losing its significance.

After generations and generations of adding their little parts,
the sides begin to wear, unable to hold.
Some added, some removed,
Yet all matter’s what it contains.
New stories told again and again.
This time, in the hands of a new edition,
Eventually passed on once more to that next member.

Those tea stained, torn and sun-discolored pages of that worn-down album
Are filled with stilled memories,
that will be held eternally.