Old writings script like weeds cut a shaped show, br hefting wind's course in a flowery shot ‘neath ship; br it whittled down a snug picture in a fine array, br oldman's smile glow like fling of a sunlight ray. br T'is old scrapbook won every heart’s sorrow and joy br in a reader's mind, a keenly stride, a swinged bouy: br where memory’s blurred like thinly clouds match br even more amusing is its skin-wound rared patch. br Oh finely writings showed a twinly delight nitch, br with one little lad happened to reach out a hitch; br One arm stretch out a skyward palm’s colored ink, br drops of drizzled air’ve finally send it to a sink. br “Oh, why? , said the lad, my granny’s scrapbook br was made into a paper fly, a kite, and a queeny cook...