Old Tatter Boxes [Revision]

A dusty corner stacked high of old tatter boxes.
Tatter, musty boxes lost in time and space.
Pull boxes from their places,
They creak and groan upon the floor.
Flying dust in air of ages passes; now gone no more.
Ancient boxes open; a whiff of old surrounds the room.
Hands gently take out object never before have seen.
Old they are, just like the tatter, musty boxes,
But preserved with stories of old;
Stories of long ago; is what the object is now.
Young hands gently fond object once was used so well.
Back to its place in the tatter, musty box it goes;
Move tatter, musty box along the floor.
Back to dusty corner pile high with other tatter boxes;
They lie lost for awhile until another time comes by.


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