I built a treasure chest. With gold frills and jewel pieces. I laced the chest with silver coils, shaping danger signs barring curious explorers from opening it. Inside it I put an Egyptian ankh, the toe of the first homo erectus man. Over the years I found more great wonders, like the diary of Amelia Earhart, the Bermuda Triangle's secret. I put it all in this treasure chest of mine, and said, the day will come, when one will dare open this chest. I have to admit the exterior wasn't as strong as it was misleading. I threw the magic hair dust of a pixie that left a packet under the pillow when I lost my first tooth. Some would see, instead of a beautiful chest a dirty sack of socks. Others would see a dining table, and apart from inquiring why on earth it was placed in the middle of a bedroom, they would not give it a second look. Still more came and saw a hardened wooden chastity chest, but there was one that commented that the box looked like a diamond in the rough. I delight
In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life. It goes on. Robert Frost