Old Things
I love old things...old books...old friends,
The lovely way an old tree bends
Above a little clapboard house,
A tiny yard still as a mouse.

A zigzag fence of cedar rails,
A stout old ship with mended sails,
Tall trees around a village square,
A chest of thin, 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