A Pretty August Day

There was a box,
sitting in a field.
A lonely box,
a brown box,
with shimmers of gold and mirth.
No on dared near
as the river rushed down
the steaming rapids.
The box,
it sat unopened,
its mysteries held within.
lost in the world.
lost with its treasures.
No one cared,
when the rain pelted down
and the box,
weakened, crumbling.
But a pretty August day,
someone neared,
picking up the box
in loving arms,
to share the wealth of treasures and love.
Finally saved.
finally loved,
as the sun basked down,
bathing both box and savior,
in happiness.