.'
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