Old writings script like weeds cut a shaped show, <br />hefting wind's course in a flowery shot ‘neath ship; <br />it whittled down a snug picture in a fine array, <br />oldman's smile glow like fling of a sunlight ray. <br />T'is old scrapbook won every heart’s sorrow and joy <br />in a reader's mind, a keenly stride, a swinged bouy: <br />where memory’s blurred like thinly clouds match <br />even more amusing is its skin-wound rared patch. <br />Oh finely writings showed a twinly delight nitch, <br />with one little lad happened to reach out a hitch; <br />One arm stretch out a skyward palm’s colored ink, <br />drops of drizzled air’ve finally send it to a sink. <br />“Oh, why? , said the lad, my granny’s scrapbook <br />was made into a paper fly, a kite, and a queeny cook...” <br />he mustered all the pages, match a writing in the air, <br />“Oh please no! that’s my granny’s scrapbook, please sir! ” <br />Was his last cry out from his disdainful love and heart, <br />Tears’re seemed like a river flow over his eyes and brow; <br />Only one sigh is paid by the man in its all keenly musing: <br />A last laugh’s heard from afar like dropped dews sewing!<br /><br />Gil Gregorio<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-writings-old-scrapbook-old-play/
