Old Things


I like old houses and old streets... The tree that shows its
age...And that familiar color of...The faded printed page
...I like old shoes and battered hats... The wrinkles in a brow
... and fields that have not felt for years... The turning of a
plow... Each month and moon of long ago... And every smile
and tear... Become the music of a song... That leaves a
souvenir... The world goes on from day to day... With love
and flowers fair... And many are the hands that reach... For
newness everywhere... But in my heart I treasure all... The
things that used to be... And I am really happy when... I
dream in memory.




James J. Metcalfe

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This poem is on kpage 141 of More Poem Portraits