My attic isn't gloomy, you'll find no mice or cobwebs there.  There's only love and happiness of things we all once shared.  They just went out of fashion as the days passed on by.  I can't seem to part with things no matter how hard I try.  There's the trunk with Granny's wedding dress that all the girls have worn.  The old love letters of mama's that were written before I was born.  The satin heart shaped box that holds my childhood treasures.  So many memories and more love than time can ever measure.  There's Grandpa's spats and button shoes worn when they were married.  The old steamer trunk in which their honeymoon clothes were carried.  There's dad's old leather doctors bag he took with him each and every day.  When house calls were made and a chicken was sometimes his only pay.  The old gilded mirror that reflected their beautiful face.  Where they could tuck in a wisp of hair that had fallen out of place.  An antique hand cranked Victrola with its records of romance.  To which my mother and her sisters learned to ballroom dance.  The dress form where none of their lovely frocks were left to chance.  Stands oh so stately and hardly commands a backward glance.  No dear heart, these simple things are not junk, for each one holds a story.  They bring me peace and comfort now that they have all gone to Glory.
Mary S. Hymel