Rediscovery

I've been going through Old poetry, my own, a motley Collection like a dusty attic piled with Rumpled rhyme schemes And littered with brightly hued Scraps of imagery, left half-stitched; It's an interesting sort of search, Going through old notebooks Like wardrobes stacked with Threadbare cliches and dusty Scrapbook impressions of a Younger soul; hazy reflections trapped Under the surface of a warped mirror And it is here that I will find Tucked between the folds of Outgrown naivete and melodic revery Hidden, like pressed flowers, Still-vibrant emotions; memories; Surprisingly sweet