“When the kids have grown up and are gone, we have a natural instinct to reorganize. We want to clean out closets and garages … but sometimes we have to be careful about what gets thrown away.“

A crisp morning sky held the sun, coming up
	When he stepped to the porch with his mug.
She was coming back in, and reached for the cup
	Gladly given, along with a hug

The driveway was full of tables with things.
	The garage bays were equally packed.
Furniture covered with scratches and dings
	Joined the volumes of books neatly stacked.

Said he, “It’s just junk, so who’ll want to pay?”
 	“You might be surprised!” said the wife
“If we have to,” she said, “we’ll just give it away,
	Then at least we won’t store it for life.”

He laughed as he gazed, and mentally surveyed,                   
	The stuff they had kept through the years
But his eyes narrowed in on something that made
	The smile on his face disappear.

On a box of worn balls, lay an old Rawlings mitt
	Well weathered by past summer days.
He picked the glove up with the hand it still fit
	And remembered its many great plays

The glove saw some time as a personal tool
	But its best service came after that
On the vacant grass lot near the back of the school
	Where his kids learned to field and to bat
	
Nope, he decided, the Rawlings stays here
	From the garage sale, he took it away.
When his wife asked him why, he smiled and said, “Dear
	We can’t let this glove go today!” 
	
“Someday,” he said, “our kids will have kids
	And they’ll want to learn baseball I bet.
They’re gonna’ need me… and I’m gonna’ need this.
	The Rawling’s not finished quite yet!”