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The Old Trunk
The Old Trunk
A rusty old trunk in an attic
Stands cloaked in layers of dust
Straps moldy , still clinging together
Hinges tarnished ... spotted with rust
Sunbeams peek playfully through window panes
Painting rainbows on webs finely spun
Breezes whisper through cracks in the eaves
Serenading ... no one ...
Papers are scattered ... cartons piled high
Shadowy corners are filled
An old rocking chair, a child's broken toy
A music box ... dancer now stilled.
Standing ... forgotten ... orphaned by time
Waiting to be rediscovered
The old trunk in a mysterious way
Hints at secrets not yet uncovered.
What lies in that belly of metal and wood
Are there gowns of satin and lace?
A bundle of letters tied up with a bow
Jeweled combs that held curls in place?
Perhaps there are clues to how life used to be
Photographs yellowed with age
A Diary to transport backwards in time
If one would but turn the page
An Old Family Bible inscribed with great care
Penmanship flowing with grace
Documenting lives of those who lived here
The date of their birth and the place
Details of marriages, christenings ... death
Newspaper clippings .. a Deed ...
The trunk has protected these links to the past
Waiting for someone to read.
Black Velvet of night drapes over the sun
The hour has grown very late
Somewhere a Genealogist searches for clues
While the old trunk just sits ... and waits.
©Sharon Langan
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