Salad Bowls

I tossed out several salad bowls,
Real old and made of wood;
All scratched and cracked, they had to go –
I’d keep them if I could.

They had a matching larger bowl,
With serving fork and spoon.
We got them as a gift right after
Our brief honeymoon.

Though it was years ago,
I still recall, so sharp and clear,
The meals we served to friends
In such a stress-free atmosphere.

Nobody yet had children;
Most of us still had our folks.
We’d eat and laugh and drink our drinks
Or pass around the smokes.

We all had jobs and life was filled
With feathering our nests.
Sorrow and disease were woes
We hadn’t yet addressed.

Our lives were as unblemished
As those wooden salad bowls;
Our needs so simply sated
With some greens and casseroles.

Those days are gone; the bowls are, too.
Such remnants of the past
Remind us that all things must go,
But memories will last.