The attic has been dark for many years,
A hidden place of rot, and mold, and rust,
A store of long-forgotten souvenirs
Lost in there, to be buried by the dust.
The door is locked, no entry is allowed
To any man, into this private room.
Now all it holds is covered by a shroud
Forever to be buried in this tomb.
At times, from underneath the solid door
The faintest gleam of light comes stealing in,
The room is lit a moment, then no more;
The darkness chases it away again.
Lend me your lamp, and with it I’ll light mine,
Let’s open up this attic one last time.
