My treasures are not priceless jewels,
Or pictures very rare,
They're the many little loving gifts
Which show how much you care,
The wooden soldier and the mouse,
Now faded by the sun,
The plaster dog you gave with pride
And the Indian with his gun,
The book of cars, your very own,
Was a very special prize,
For you had nothing else to give
So it's precious in my eyes,
There's also a little box,
It's pink and very small
And it's contents are all quite minute,
The most precious gift of all,
But they're our secret, yours and mine,
No one else can know they're there,
For they are proof of the way we feel
And the special love we share.