Show fo in the little old tuch on F Z E 1 P JN N the attic where mother goe Is a trunk in a shadowed nook A trunk ana and its lid she will oft unclose As it if it were a precious book she kneels at its side on the attic board boards and tenderly soft and slow she counts all the treasures she fondly hoards the things of the long ago A yellowing dress once the sheerest white that shimmered in joyous pride she looks at it now with the girl a delight that was hers when she stood a beidl there Is a ribbon of 0 faded blue she keeps with the satin gown buckles and lace and a little shoe sadly badly she lays that down I 1 one lock look of hair that Is golden still with the gold of the morning sulp sun yes and a dollie with frock and frill she 11 lifts f ts them all one by one she lifts them a I 1 to her gentle lips up there in the afternoon sometimes the rain from the eave save trough drips tears with her quavered croon up in the vie a attic tile where mother roea poes Is a trunk in a E avowed place A trunk with the scent of a 0 withered rose on the satin fratin and shoe and lace none of us touches its battered lid but safe sade in its niche it stays sacred to all that her heart has hid i gold of the other days I 1 ell VJ ta W D N in chicago tribune A |