Dusty was the attic

With boxes piled high

A mound of ragged dresses

A kite that wouldn't fly


A scrapbook with some pictures

That were nibbled at the edges

Curtains at the windows

That fell below the ledges


Some mismatched, broken jewelry

That sparkled in the sun

Some ancient, broken board games

That never could be fun


Two scarecrows standing proudly

With spiders in their coats

A sticky, old piano

That was missing several notes


But to me the boxes were a castle

The dresses spun with laces

The jewelry on the scarecrow

Greatly improved their faces


And though the piano wouldn't play

I sat and sang there all the day

I had a great time anyway

I imagined in the spaces

The End

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