Flea Market

 

I love the useless boxes,

Too small for anything much,

Ornately carved

By an idle hand

With an artisan’s kindly touch;

 

I love the faded papers,

Replete with faded news,

That tell the tale 

Of ambitious men

And their antiquated views;

 

I love to stalk the aisles 

And handle the debris,

Part treasure

And part flotsam,

That makes our legacy.