Old, wooden and rusty
Brown as a tree without sunlight
Dried out leather
Black liquorice
Still like a hermit crab
Stiff
Shrunken super cars with their wheels all gone in a deserted car yard
Memory of my great grandma
Marching on the cobblestone path, Tip tap, Tip tap
Passed down from generations
Keeping it safe is heavy on my shoulders
An ancient artefact, much before my time
Kept in a cabinet
Dusty
If it disappeared I would feel like my world was dead
Given to my Nana as a memory of her mother
Walking – Helpers