18 July 2012
In the space Above a charity shop, Can be found the sorting room.
Old books, old clothes, Toys and ornaments galore! When first given away To make room, To be rid of, They must first be checked in The sorting room.
The workers gather around a table Piled high with gifts And sort and arrange And judge (between chitting and chatting) The contents of donations.
But there is one job In particular they have to do By running a finger Long the chain of a faded necklace, Or diving into the pockets Of an old suit, And pulling out a thing Perhaps it's a soul Or a memory Or who knows what, But they clear it off Like some dusty cobweb And put it to one side So the item can feel like new.
What happens to the soul Or memory thing I cannot say. Maybe they sell them too For those in need of something new, Or for the benefit of the lost and lonely?
How much for a second hand soul?
The Charity Shop Workers • Opuss № I