Where there’s muck there’s Brass.

Where there’s muck there’s Brass
Where there’s muck there’s Brass
Underneath the grass
Lies a silver shilling
Behind the machine
Where the lights unseen
A darkened world
Where the fridge sits chilling
To glimpse the past
Look where the dirt has amassed
Underneath the sink
Or cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling
In the backs of wardrobes hide
More than one’s sense of pride
And the attic space becomes more appealing
Where there’s muck there’s Brass
Where there’s muck there’s Brass
Time will leave its print
In the form of a found penny.

Where there’s muck there’s Brass
Where there’s muck there’s Brass
Something stirs in me
And I must show willing
Beside the wall
Where the flowers grow tall
A shadow cast
That I find fulfilling
To glimpse the past
View that old pile of steps
A broken path
And the iron railing
In overgrown hedgerows hide
An old rusting slide
The lost toys of youth
The lost idea of spring
Where there’s muck there’s Brass
Where there’s muck there’s Brass
A silent voice
Says you must not keep asking.

Written in August of 2014.

A pile of scrap Brass or Art?