I long for ancient things,
for the steel of ancient rings –
for lutes that sing and embers ting/
ling red and bloody rare.
For silks’ soft fold,
drapes brilliant bold,
for strings of gold and silver bright
upon a threadbare night.
For parchment dry,
for stones to scry,
for groaning rafters high with dust –
with generations’ must.
For gems aglow,
for shelves ablaze
with tomes that crow of leaner days.
When mem’ry, pale and eldritch, sings,
indeed I long for ancient things.
Hat: ’50s vintage, via Barge Canal Market
Everything else: thrifted