The Treasure Trove

Up in the attic a treasure trove

Of things forgotten, musty old,

Things that Grandma hid away

For unknown needs of future days.

 

Inside an old wooden trunk,

Mid stacks and stacks of seeming junk,

Hours quickly passing by,

My eyes can't bear to leave this sight.

 

Old dresses made of calico,

Every stitch, by hand was sewn,

A family bible, family names,

I'd seen on headstones on their graves.

 

Letters, more than just a few

From friends and family I never knew.

Then in the bottom of the chest

A yellow faded wedding dress.

 

Neatly folded tucked away,

A symbol of that sacred day

When vows were spoken tenderly,

Of love that set two lovers free.

 

Memories flooded through my mind

Traveling back to by-gone times.

Shedding pensive thoughtful tears,

I felt Grandma very near.

 

Copyright 2001 by Layne S. Porter