I love old things, old books, old friends,
The lovely way an old tree bends
Above a litte clapboard house,
A tiny yard still as a mouse.
A zig-zag fence of cedar rails,
A stout old ship with mended sails,
Tall trees around a village square,
A chest of thing, old silverware.
An old log house beyond the town,
Its oaken rafters falling down
Yet holding in each chimney stone,
An ageless beauty of its own.
I love the sheen of oaken floors,
Wrought iron hinges on old doors,'
The sound that flowing water makes,
The weathered brown of cedar shakes.
I love old things....timeworn and frayed,
Upon whose heart the years have laid
A kindly touch as if to show
The beauty of their inner glow.