An empty jar made of glass,

that use to be filled with love from the past.

With her wrinkled hands and crooked fingers,

Tightened lids ; the warmth lingers.

Rows of jars along the shelf,

The love keeps growing with my help.

Now the single jar I keep,

reminds me of that love technique.

It is never empty, although it is,

An empty glass jar gives and gives and gives.