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 |