THE ATTIC

There's a wee room that I've heard of, it's up there in the attic,
Where pigeons cooed and children played, for them it held such magic.
They'd dream their dreams and say their prayers, such joy was spread around,
Such a wondrous place upon this earth, could surely not be found.

There's a wee room in the attic that holds books that sit unread,
There's a weathered well-used wardrobe, and a comfy cozy bed.
The walls of that wee attic room hold the secret hopes and dreams,
Of the children who once played there, to my mind at least it seems.

To the stranger who might tarry there, their voices still remain,
Held safe and warm within the walls of this loving, sweet domain.
The children have all left now, each one they did depart,
But that wee room holds a special place, forever in their heart.

Some chose to live in far off lands, while others stayed at home,
But the heart that beats within each breast never far did roam.
If ever they return again, there's a place they all will go,
To that wee room in the attic, they have loved from long ago.

Thel Pryce
November, 1996