Pale worn out pieces of paper,
Tattered edges and frayed corners,
Stitched together once so well
Now the loose threads lie there bare.
Sewn up and darned more than once,
Crumpled with creases one too many,
Held over and over by sweaty palms.
Dust and grime cover in layers.
To any other eye, it is just junk,
Trash to be thrown away in a blink,
For him, it was priceless treasure
A century ago’s journaled memories!
None too many hands can touch this treasure - the more it is handled, the softer it becomes - I have some of these treasures too.
ReplyDeleteA nice description of a treasured chronicle. This in itself would become one in the time to come..
ReplyDeleteThere is a sadness here.I feel it when I see all the embroideries
ReplyDeleteand family photos in the op shop.