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Into the attic I creep.
Just for a tiny peak.
They won't ever know.
I'll go real slow.

A pirate trunk to find.
Jolly Roger, and that kind.
Slowly open to look.
It's empty but one book.

Soiled and old, yet it gleams.
First page open by seam.
Dear Diary, today I cry.
I met this nice guy.

from my poetry book DREAMS 1

------
SCRATCHES ON THE PAGE,
MAKING NOISE


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The following comments are for "TREASURE"
by poewhit





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