Stories Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Some stories are like rosebuds
Soft as the toes of babies.
Others are hard as a factory's polished lino.

They were young once, these stories.
Some have callouses
Some missed the railway track
Some died on it
Some grow sour.
Others improve with years.
Some, you have to get down on your knees
To coax from a dusty corner under an iron bed.

They roll out, rusty and dusty,
Rhematicky and stiff...
But take them out.
Encourage them to run
Watch as they blow the cobwebs
Out of their mouths and ears!