The Collection Poem by Saint Cynosure

I enjoy this time alone with self,
arranging odd things i keep on my shelf.
Aluminum steel,
and pewter cast soldiers.
My in deep thought kitty,
who begs you to hold her.
A one color picture,
inside a little brass frame.
My just like me frog,
who still has no name.
He's a neat little frog,
always cold to the touch.
He has only one eye,
so he never cries much.
Theres my first pair of shoes,
and their wore to a nub.
They were bought when brand new,
they weren't hand me down me love.
There are seven keys to doors,
that Ive never been through.
If I knew where they were,
thats something I'd do.
Theres a rubber thing here,
that I've had the longest.
Of all of my things,
our connections the strongest.
I don't know what it is,
or from where it came.
I don't know what it does,
if it does anything.
It is soft and perfect,
to squeeze in the hand.
And bounces forever,
before it will land.
Theres a tooth from a foe,
that I keep for good luck.
Removed from my hand,
from where it was stuck.
Theres a miniature bible,
way smaller than most.
The true word of my GOD,
the lord of all host.
Theres a small winding clock,
that cannot keep time.
Because it has to be wound,
but neglects to remind.
There's a photo of someone,
I forgot that I knew.
Whoever she is,
to the left of my shoes.
Two pens and a book,
with numbers and names.
In front of the one color picture,
in its little brass frame.
All of these things,
bring a smile to my face.
Each little thing,
in its own little space.
When I gaze at these,
things I comfort myself.
This collection of things,
I keep on my shelf.