UP IN THE LOFT
It used to be before Christmas I remember most,
Especially if to the family we were to be host,
That cleaning and tidying was done with zest,
When all in place, up to the loft went the rest.

There would be a pile on the landing by the hole,
Another job for dad after he brought in the coal,
Then everything would vanish, be out of sight,
To be forgotten would be their terrible plight.

A short while later you would hear people say
“Have you seen this or that, it’s missing some way”
We’d all think of the loft and the things hidden away,
But dreaded the thought ,we put it off for another day.

Then as years passed and memories sometimes fade,
You forget of all the loft trips that were often made.
Till one day the time comes to move house and go.
Then up to the loft, away all the old junk to throw.

But wait, that’s dad old pipe and gran’s best shawl,
The memories flood back as through the dust you crawl,
My child’s rocking chair with the broken off arm,
We can’t throw it away it has so much charm.

So only a little is thrown away from loft treasures up there,
So many things that once were cherished with care,
Although forgotten for a decade or may be more,
Come back in your life to enter through another door.

When tidying is done and everywhere has to look just right,
Into the loft goes all the same things, what a terrible plight,
Until moving again comes around yet another time
They may be all antiques, then I’ll be glad they are mine.

M Ann Margetson © October 5, 2000
2000/ Upinthe.