On Clearing the Attic
In consideration after death
When we have gasped our final breath
You’ll find the attic empty now
No photographs. No sacred cow
Of memory.
No scrapbooks of the years gone by
No toys to make you stop and sigh
No junk, No letters. Take a look
The odd, and interesting book
From history
Some records of Bob Zimmerman
(Post mortem I am still a fan)
A drone, some loo rolls, clothes to wear
For dressing up. A wooden chair
From Leamington
Transferred from Nanny’s council house
With memories that still arouse
Some thoughts of all those years gone by
Nostalgic tears form in the eye
In empathy
For she left very little too
Some silverware and one or two
Small items. Medals from my Dad
Thinking of them makes me sad
My memory
Plays tricks with me
I just see what I want to see
White Decembers, summer sun
When all was good and all was fun
I’ll let it be
So what is left we’d rarely touch
I hope that we won’t leave too much
To cause you hours of throwing out
Of things our lives were not about
You know this
You don’t need stuff from years ago
Unused, forgotten but it’s so
Hard to throw away the past
Things gather dust. They wither fast
Just tokens
Mementos aren’t what you should keep
And when you start to fall asleep
Let memories of us suffice
And take a little sage advice
Be thankful
