Vinyl Recollections

In the attic’s whisper, a box tucked away,

dusty records lie still, remnants of play.

Faded album covers, torn at the seam,

yellowed with time, each one holds a dream.

A child at my door, asking about sound,

a project for school, memories unbound.

I lift one with care, and a crack breaks the air,

melodies linger, a past I still share.

Each scratch tells a story, each spin pulls me back,

into a world where the colors are black.

Something vinyl, alive, echoes in time,

wrapped in the warmth of a childhood rhyme.