Novel in the attic
How quaint it was forgot
Though it\'s endearing pages
Have want to not be lost
So rummage up the dust strewn stairs
To find the gold in vintage;
The new cannot compete the rare
The old intrigues the new.
And its cover is decrepit,
The glossary not comprehended
The pictures, pale, in sepia
All of it, old memorabilia
Yet the words inside are rich and ripe
With moments happy, and others trite
Imagine it, inside your mind
The setting in vermilion
So as an homage to the derelict
What has become esoteric
Found, the novel in the attic
Won\'t live it\'s life forgotten.