A Trunk In the Attic
At age ten, I found a trunk in the attic
full of leather-bound books and tied up comics.
Luckily they weren't dusty; I'm asthmatic,
dad scored them cheap base on street economics
but my recall’s somewhat melodramatic.
But for years, leery of Russian atomics
I would hide in the attic; my special place,
and read a book, from Shakespeare to outer space.
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