My life included many things
Shiny, bright new objects
At the time, they meant nothing,
Just a perfect little trinket

Over time they gently wore out
Creasing at the edges
Scratched from love
Fading and unraveling

Each tiny imperfection
Grows into a problem
But who would want to get rid of it
When it tells a brilliant story?

The crease becomes a tear
The scratch into a dent
And the fading corners turn into
Blank, plain white

As the stitching comes apart
And the keys fall off the piano
The great 'new' truck rusts
And the lily wilts away

Sure you love these things-
Mostly because they tell you something
Something like a tale
How did it happen? When and where?

These things, such as life
Will slowy go away
Only to turn around
And tell the story again