One tattered broom still remains
that I shall always hold in my hands.
Coming from the old tattered factory
where hard-working men and women.
Labored with pride with the sweat of their brow
In an instant forever forgotten in firy flames.
Only the tattered shell of the building
remains in my mind to always remember and see
That this broom holds a key to great people
Always embedded in my life always to stay,
For with my broom, memories can never be
swept away. They are angel dusted mementos.