Brave little soldiers all of them lead, but most of them
are either damaged or dead. Moth eaten lace that hang's
on a rail, the remnants of a forgotten wedding veil
Under a clouded window stands an old rocking horse
he is lost to the world and he has ran his final course.
A nursing chair now gone to pot, that could bring a tidy
penny in an auction lot.
In the corner is a chest full of letters and script and a collection
of books with some pages that are ripped.
Cobwebs and dust fill every space, can we ever wonder
who lives in this place. A haven for mice and vermin infestation
and a wonderful scene for a dramatic art presentation.
This place is the attic where everything goes and what
is in it no one knows; this is a place to hide your dreams
hidden away amonst the rafters and the beams.
A place of storage for those forgotton cares
Which live in that place, above the stairs.
sylvia spencer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/forgotten-cares/
