Old Rags

I kept a little thing In my bag I have no skeleton In my cupboard An old rag That keeps me bored No matter how flourish They say is your riches Your little rag memories' inches It makes the old snobbish A sage's memories is incomplete Without the record of it For how long will I keep The pain's memories in steep I stand for long as hope For the unborn down the earth's slope To cope with the tight and slack of life's welcome pack.