Oak Sideboard

Since a century ago it stands,
Majestic, elegant, its carved bonnet and high oak shelf
Opulent, gracing other homes than ours.
Glowing in gas-lit parlors with Ragtime music,
And bearing burnished silver and damask for the tables
Of men who talked of Jenny Lind and William Howard Taft.
A place to throw a bowler,
Or later on to place someone's lovely feather boa.

Victoria died, and Lowell Thomas gave the news,
Men drove the Pierce Arrow, the Stutz-Bearcat, and then the Buick.
Its storied beauty blackened, broken in dark back rooms, or in tin

sheds,

Beveled mirrors shattered,
Oak carvings became home to spider, moth, and cricket.

Today it gleams under tender light,
Golden oak restored, its wonderful gargoyle carvings clean,
Once again in lighted rooms with piano music.

I, too, was once a broken thing, unwanted, and needing much repair,
And I have been restored to joy and life, By one with love to give.

(c)Diana Strelow

Published in Skipping Stones 2003

and in Ripples

Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA