Treasured items locked away in boxes in the loft
Where cobwebs weave their way across the beams
And the sound of mice and footsteps very soft
Make visiting more awkward than it seems
Yet up above our heads, the memories stay
For future reminiscing when we're down
Remembering the past in our own way
No longer hanging on to some deep frown
We climb the ladder leading to that door
The attic holds such stories and then more
We push away the cobwebs and the fears
And look back over many childhood years
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem