Stories in the Attic

Aging treasures covered in dust.
Keepsakes of lives now past.
Long lost memories of secrets untold.
Pages of lives, my hand does hold.

Faded letters, tied with a string,
A feather lost from a bluebird’s wing.
A velvet glove and a broken clock,
an assortment of pieces thrown in a box.

What meaning was there in days of old?
To whom did these of stories hold?
Dearest and sweetheart, the letters say,
But of family or kin I cannot assay.

Mysteries hidden from my eyes.
Questions without answers now arise.
Romantic visions of ancient love,
As I hold in my hand– that velvet glove.

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Published in: on June 10, 2009 at 4:42 pm  Leave a Comment  

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