The old man's bazaar
The old man in the antique shop
Hides within his hoard
Surrounded by a cacophony of memories
Jumbled in a dark and dreary room,
A life's collection, under a membrane of dust
A life built on memories
Every object, with a story to tell,
A child's toy from yesteryear,
Forges memories of play and carefree
An old, frayed brown leather handbag,
Peeks beneath the darkened crippled wooden leg of the old man's stool
Sheltered for a lifetime
I pull the bag from its dusty home
Old and frail and in need of care
I wonder of the journeys it has made
The conversations it has heard
How long it has sat in the shadows of the old man's bazaar
Now in my hands
To begin a new adventure