Old Things

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.

Edna Jaques