Yellowing pages

On those

Brittle

Yellowing pages

Of the brown diary

Discovered in the

Dusty attic,

You come to

 Hear the

Faint rustling

Of the faded

Memories

Preserved and pickled

In the sprawling

Lines composed

With a black pen

By a forgotten grandmother

Sometime in the

20^th Century that is

Now somewhere buried,

Like the

Gentle fluttering

Of the cute

Yellow butterflies

Caught and kept

In a cruel jar

As the

Winged trophies

For others

To see.