Antique
The curio shop
Where no one will stop,
Lives in its yesterday-dust;
A grandfather’s clock,
An earthenware crock,
And Time’s faintest aroma of must.
The brass button trays,
The bright feather sprays,
Languish like lovers ignored.
The years are for sale,
The bargains all fail,
And Time shuffles by, looking bored.
Copyright © Steve Eng | Year Posted 2009
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