by Poetry99
© 2001 Dorothy E. Scott, all rights reserved
In the attic it was rusted from age of wear.
The lock concealed a treasure inside.
Know one knew what it had to share.
Long ago it held someone's sentimental pride.
At one time a Naval captain's fiancé's bridal trousseau.
When he failed to return from battle, buried at sea,
It had been put away, after tears had their flow.
Selling the house, from hurt wanting free.
Later on the new owner's daughter found the trunk of memory.
In her hand held the yellowed letters found in the bridal trousseau.
Of a tragic love story, lost on hostile sea.
Tied with a brittle aged string of lace, words of long ago.
In the attic it was rusted from age of wear.
The lock concealed a treasure inside.
Know one knew what it had to share.
Long ago it held someone's sentimental pride.