'Toys' In The Attic' Poem by Linda Winchell

Found your toys in the Attic,
While cleaning it out one day.
Thought your Dad got rid of them,
And had thrown them all away.

You don't live here anymore,
So why keep them things around?
I use to trip on them a lot,
When you would leave them on the ground.

Here's that big red train of yours,
You would haul it off to bed.
I think there was a book on it?
Didn't read it, that's what Dad said.

Oh, here's your metal cars,
Not too worse for all their ware.
You would pack them in a little bag you had,
You would take them everywhere.

They are more then toys in our Attic,
As I take a look around.
They are those missing childhood memories,
And the lack of your childhood sounds.

You've grown up now,
And have children of your own.
And toys, they must have many.

Was hard for us to get yours,
We'd have to scratch and save each penny.

Here is one, was made of wood,
I remember it so clearly now.
Your Daddy made it out of scraps he had,
Of Oak, and washers, glue and dowel.

Those days long gone now,
Yet they still linger on for me.
As I look at each boyhood toy,
And miss that little boy, God gave to me.

Your a man now Son, but always to remain.
That little sweet young boy of ours,
With his favorite little Red Train.