My Grandparent’s House

Hoarders lived in my grandparent’s house.

Piles of papers and magazines turned loose

Paths to each room seemed to rouse

No other way but the one I must choose.

What memories may be held in the muck,

In salvage or garbage they may mistook

For something once useful, now laid to rest

In the stockpile that gathered in that cluttered nest.

Depression era values took and held fast

In which no tidbit of information lost

But no computer or scanner kept alive

To share these tidbits on a hard drive.


©2017 Valerie Hathaway

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