At The Antique Shop

I stroll among the dusty, cluttered objects
that belong to days gone by.
Wooden floors creak, walls paneled
with wind browned branding irons, spurs,
a side saddle with red velvet seat.
Pewer and crystal glean on dust covered shelves.
Passing crocks, a wood churn, a cradle
once handled with love,
I gently touch it, wishing
I had been born in a different era.
Old Friend

Pages from an hourglass gaze
on the shelf where I sought you.
Crinkled edges, like daisies
in a diary, gathering dust,
wrinkled with age.

I feel the persistent pleasure
this memory brings me.
Your attraction holds me still.

Again I will caress your white pulse
and delight in that
which makes you unique.

Copyright 1997 by Carol E. Smith

Their collection of buttons, lines, & animation are really good.
Poems, At The Drive-In & At The Candy Store
BACK
HOME