The Attic

Boxes piled in stacks around me
Mystery is what surrounds me
Dust has coated chests and keys
Books and photos such as these

Jacks and Chess, unfinished games
Of those which I do not know the names
And a funny sort of feeling
From my toes up to the ceiling

There may be hidden neath a helm
An entrance to another relm
Or underneath the old guitar
may lie a magic jelly jar

The attic is a time machine
For anyone, you or me
To use their great imagination
Just like a wonderful space station

It is a place where I can dream
Of things that others cannot see
Alone up there I am myslef
Be that a princess, dog or elf

I sit in silence, deep in thought
No one can say that I should no
No one to scoff, no one to hinder
Imagination's dreamlike splendor!

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Copyright of Charlotte DeMocker