My Wallet

I look at my wallet, so empty, so thin,
I obtained it when I was young, stupid and tiny,
The leather so slim, shiny and warm,
However the fondness that has grown, cannot be replaced by anything,
I treasure the meaning amongst all the others,
The fact that it’s empty doesn’t bother me at all,
It is what’s found in the leather, the stiches, the seam,
That’s the real meaning, no tricks, not one,
Showing my admiration, among all the relics,
This one more special, then any of them,
You want to know why,
It’s because of the day, the month, the year
Something happened that day, over here,
A little boy cried, so his mum brought him glee,
Guess who it was, that little boy was me.