I sift through the junk in the antique shop
Yesterdays treasures sadly forgot
Factory products made through the ages
Hundreds of books, thousands of pages
Hats and coats that topped heights of fashion
Objects desired, music of passion
The man takes a fiver for a big job lot
The door shuts behind but with lasting impression
Imagining souls of all past expression
I hear the echoes of worlds gone before
Laughter and bustle on factory floor
The skills and the labour, craft and design
Now buried deep by the swift march of time
The soft voice of life whispers a lesson
-
Author:
Jeremy Leach (
Offline) - Published: September 4th, 2018 16:00
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 31
Offline)
Comments1
If only those items could talk what wonderful stories they could tell.
Always what I think too.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.