It's a board carved wooden cupboard; <br />the ancient dark-coloured oak <br />has taken on that pleasant air <br />that old people have; the cupboard is open, <br />and gives off from its kindly shadows <br />inviting aromas like a breath of old wine; <br />full to overflowing, it's a jumble of quaint old things: <br />fragrant yellowed linen, <br />rags of women's or children's clothes, faded laces, <br />grandmothers' kerchiefs embroidered with griffins; <br />- here you could find lockets, <br />and locks of white or blonde hair, <br />portraits and dried flowers <br />whose smell mingles with the smell of fruit. - <br /> <br />O cupboard of old times, you know plenty of stories; <br />and you'd like to tell them; <br />and you clear your throat every time <br />your great dark doors slowly open.<br /><br />Arthur Rimbaud<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cupboard-2/
