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The things I have collected read like a greedy bridal list.
Clocks, as if I could store up time for love and life.
Needing to be more than daughter, mother, lover, wife.
Hammocks, to stow away from the ordinary
Wanting, always, my life to be extraordinary
Ducks, in never ending flight across the walls
as if freedom could be found in these dim halls
Stuffed bears, the certain sign of love and joys.
Making up for lack of childhood toys
Rows and rows of dolls of every style
The inner child to charm and so beguile
Shells that smell of sea and sun and air,
from those times you tried so hard to care.
Candles, stones and lamps and lace
Many pictures of my fathers face
Post cards of white sand and onion domes.
While fear of change keeps me here at home.
Till that day we waited in his sombre room
and on his maple desk lay charts of doom.
While pulsing in my heated blood was hope
and life itself caught in my aching throat.
As we waited for a full and sure report
My heart, my mind, did thoroughly exhort.
And so my heart and I held honest tryst
as I promised my collecting to desist.
No more collecting pointless heartless whimsies
time for building up sweet, living memories.
You see, while we two waited there together
I knew I couldn't have life any better.
From you, I already had the precious time
An ordinary life with you was fine
From flight you never, ever held me back
And love and joy, my inner child ne’r lacked
The shell I loved - is your own sweet ear
In which I whisper words that echo dear.
My fathers face will never be so dim
because I already have a man like him
Post cards I own - will always be my own
as from far places I will send them home
My collection only made me trite and small.
But now, because of you I have it all.
I've stopped collecting now.
Not the poem which we have read, but that to which we return, with the greatest pleasure, possesses the power and claims the name of essential poetry.