Why is it that upon these things we seize? 

Can it be that collecting is a disease?

We search from nook to cranny 

For things that belonged to gramps or granny

The years roll by 

As piles of things grow high 

Some call it junk 

And others treasure 

The space it takes is hard to measure 

Just as there comes a time 

When it’s hard to get these lines to rhyme

The time approaches when things must go 

To some it matters not, if fast or slow 

When that time draws near we say 

Let it keep these treasures for yet another day