In this heavy pace of life we lead
Footprints hardly leaving a trace
No time to think, thoughts we need
Memories hanging like bits of old lace.

Tattered and torn, we laugh out loud
Or should I say LOL, like one should do.
Our histtory of which we should be proud
Flipping and turning our pages of life through.

Old lace from a dress from a bride
Stuffed in a suitcase wrapped in a silver thread
Guarded by a golden spider beside
A white, glistening immaculate web.

Old lace on a night shirt from years ago
Pulled over many a wrinkled, kind face.
Something our old loved ones would not throw
Because it was adorned by bits of old lace.