I LOVE OLD THINGS

I LOVE OLD THINGS

I love old things:
Streets of old cities
Crowded with ghosts
And banked with oranges,
Gay scarfs and shawls
That flow like red water.




I love old abbeys
With high, carved portals
And dim, cool corners
Where tired hearts pray:
I join them in the silence
And repair my soul.

I love old inns
Where floors creak eerily
And doors blow open
On windless nights,
Where heavy curtains
Dance a slow waltz.




I love old trees
That lift up their voices
High above the grasses.
They do not sing
At the light wind’s bidding:
They chant alone to storms.

I love old china,
Knowing well the flavour
Of great, strong men
And fair, sweet women
Lurks at the rim
Of each deep brown bowl.




I love old books
Frayed from the searching
Of truth-hungry fingers:
Their warm, soft vellum
Leads me up through sorrow
Like a dear friend’s hand.

I love old men
And old, dear women
Who keep red cheeksl
As the snows of winter
Keep the round red berry
Of the winter-green.




I love old things:
Weather-beaten, worn things,
Cracked, broken, torn things,
The old sun, the old moon,
The old earth’s face,
Old wine in dim flagons,
Old ships and old wagons –
Old ships And Old Wagons –
Old coin and old lace,
Rare old lace.

--Wilson MacDonald