I hunt through the cramped attic of a house in the South;
Uninhabited for years; the taste of dust fills my mouth.
A buttonhole carnation, kept to reminisce;
A crumpled wedding veil from their first, joyful, kiss.
A ’29 Journal says the markets have gone ill;
A worn Bible still conceals a ten-dollar-bill.
A young boy’s cap, a toy soldier, a baby-blue rattle;
A corporal’s insignia, sole survivor from some great battle.
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