Button joy

One and only reason for braving a fleemarket*
throng: buttons!! (and lace...)

(*P.S.: ha, a nice Freudian slip... thank you,
ArtSparker, for the hint...)

Lebensfreude (= joy of life)...

"Before I get to the button tin
I have to explain where I've been
Here taking care of my parents, for who knows how long.
Both ill and not very strong.

This is how I stumbled upon this tin.
I'm here staying with them
Sleeping in my mothers sewing room
So I can be closer and more attuned.

So I opened up this little red rusty tin
and this is where the button talk begins
Some of these buttons being very old
passed down from her mother and not resold

There is probably even some of great grannies here.
Some from the good old days that look worse for wear.
But if they could only talk to us.
Could you imagine the stories and such.

Brass buttons, blue buttons to name a few.
Some with eyes, I guess they can see too.
Some from shirts, some from coats.
Maybe even one from a harlot's petticoat.
(Boy, the stories that one could tell.
We won't go there, might burn in hell: O)

But can you imagine where these buttons have been
Worn by babies, children, ladies and men.
I'm sure they witnessed some history.
Seen all God's creations and life's mysteries.

I sure would like to stay and listen to them.
Here the stories of where they've been.
But it's time to go take care of mom now.
I'll leave you with one thought that may raise your brow.
Better beware when your buttons stare.
Cause' later they'll be telling your stories with flare.
Then again I guess that's why we undress before we go to bed.
So those buttons don't have any incriminating facts in their heads."

(JoJo Bean: If Buttons Could Talk)

- Yes, this is a la la poem.
But I like it, for button´s sake...


ArtSparker hat gesagt…

We called my grandmother "Buttons" because she collected them. Oh, I think this post has just changed a work in progress for me...Aside from making me rather envious of your new old buttons, I must confess.

And this jump rope verse, which sounds like it contains a horror story:

Oh Martha Hack Hack Hack
All dressed in black black black
She asked her mother mother mother
for fifty cents cents cents
To see the elephant elephant elephant
jump over the fence fence fence.

It's usually spelled fleamarket, but fleemarket works too.

jeanne herself hat gesagt…

well, i can't wait to see where these buttons land . . .