I have retreated to the world of things,
And mostly to the world of things in lists,
The world of coffers, mule chests and kists,
And all the happiness that old oak brings.
The world of Victor Chinnery, MacQoid,
Where all is peace and beauty, solid strength,
Though not all truth, and yet I can’t avoid
Reality in weight, height, depth and length.
I laugh at old attempts to pass things off
As many decades older than they are,
Yet age revered, age as a guiding star
Is not a principle at which I scoff,
Indeed, it is the one by which I live,
And men who tried to make age manifest
Were emulating all that they thought best,
And so it is our duty to forgive
And see the decent motivation with the eye
That prides itself on picking out the lie.