.'
She loves to buy, she hates to throw
It's worse when there is stress
Where it was put, she'll always know
It is her lovely mess
The kid's toys that were so much fun
Sweet memories obsess
But when it all is said and done
Can't let go of that mess
She grew up poor and it was hard
So this she will confess
There were no toys in her back yard
To even make a mess
To throw for some is done with ease
But you would never guess
For her, it feels like a disease
A therapeutic mess
And she has kept every antique
Ancestors would possess
From generations they're unique
It's still considered mess
When she has finished her life's dance
Will God still think to bless
A mom who leaves inheritance
In upstairs storage mess
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