Hoarders Demise
The place was adorned with treasures
Accumulating over the years
Some may say it's gaudy
Others find it ornate
Although the baubles filled every space
You could still see the yellowing walls
Behind every hanging piece of art
Was the original color of paint
The desks, bookshelves and everywhere on the floor
Was the presence of antique dust
The smell of old books and household accumulations
We're really very obtruse
Now the old lady is gone
Died trying to climb over a pile of papers
An avalanche of nicnacs ensued
Covering her in an instant
They put a sign up on the door
Requesting collectables buyers
The sale went very well financially
And left empty spaces everywhere
We are sorry for the hoarders Demise.
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Comments
The poem told a rush of a tragedy.
There's nothing like the smell of old books,Trish.
When you walk into a public library, someone's home filled with books, or even a thrift store for that matter, it nearly reeks of centuries of wisdom.
I'm a bit of a hoarder myself at least where old newspaper clippings and books are concerned.
I thought it sad that the lady in this poem passed away.
Nice writing, very emotionally driven.
~Dean