Treasure

I didn't have much,
Of some things to keep.
And I often went forth,
To the garbage heap.

What some throw away,
Is often full measure.
And to a keen imagination,
It becomes a real treasure.

For a spoon...I once found,
With its hard use and bashes.
As a child...I took it,
From a pile of dark ashes.

To my playhouse...I took it,
It was a real prize.
To stir in my mixtures,
And to make my mud-pies.

My Mother...then took it,
And scoured it up.
It was of bright silver,
That dipped from my cup.


E.P. 1908 - 1989