Posted in Poems

They call what I treasure …. rubbish


Photos by C.E. Pereira

Antiques! Vintage! Classic!
Out of my reach to buy.
But family heirlooms,
I treasure these old things.

My grandfather’s clock.
It tells more than time.
Death strikes at nine.
Its pendulum is frozen.

A wooden chest of old.
Passed to my father.
From his father. Now mine.
My treasures I keep in it.

My parents wedding gift.
A dinner and tea set of yellow.
Gold trimmings with roses.
Memories of christmas dinners.

The wooden sitting room set.
With matching flower pot stands.
Given to my father by his Aunt.
Why not to her children?

Who will I choose to inherit?
The youngsters don’t seem to care.
I am sad by their answers.
They call what I treasure …. rubbish.

By C.E. Pereira