The brithday jar

a jar,
one I can not see into,
sitting inside,
worth a golden bar.

My friend nervous,
me,
as excited as one could be.

open is the lid,
the treasures shining bright.
Trinkets to entertain me through the night.

A drawing,
small yet quaint,
on my wall I shall hang it,
even if not made with paint.

A keychain or two,
my favourite thing to collect,
it's my favourite thing to do.

A felt penguin,
I smile brightly,
off it goes,
next to the pots,
lopsided slightly.

With happiness I stay,
thanking my friend,
setting aside the jar,
a memory that will never end.