As a girl I remember
standing to see
Things I couldnít understand at my knee.
There was the time when papers were picked up
By the wind from the burning trash barrel, that cup.
They lay there flapping in the the naughty breeze,
On top of the snow and freeze.
I stooped and picked one up, you see.
It told of sales of cattle that were not free.
This must have been the end of something,
And I didnít know what tomorrow was to bring.
This new generation seemed all too ready to burn,
Those records of times past for which they didnít learn.
I was just a child, you see,
Always knowing the lea
But sensing this event,
Was about something spent.
The old roll top desk was clean,
Now, no reason to lock its contents, unseen.
Years later I would see it quietly resting,
In an antique store, its tales not confessing.