Classic Poem

There's nothing left for me
Of days that used to be,
I live in memory
Among my souvenirs.
Some letters
Tied with blue,
A photograph or two,
I see a rose from you
Among my souvenirs.
A few more tokens rest
Within my treasure chest,
And though they do their best
To give me consolation,
I count them all apart,
And as the teardrops start
I find a broken heart
Among my souvenirs.