He Left For War (Silver Sleigh 2WC)

On the dusty shelf sits silent silver skates, rawhide ball, and catcher's mitt, brittle and broken from life without playful purpose.

Also, the toy treasure is there, perched just above the straight-backed chair, the once-prized silver sleigh, brought home from across the ocean, its Nordic gleam tarnished, beset by patina of glory forgotten.

The same faded fate holds the basketball, now slick-skinned and dark, sitting sullenly in the corner at the foot of the hardened, stoic bat.

None now recall how long it has been since they saw the light of the sun, heard a boy's laugh, or even had to hush as the old man opened the door and looked in on them.

One by one, they long ago stopped speaking of the days when they were often left strewn about, not seeing each other for days, or how many times the rawhide ball had been lost in the taller grass at the edge of the corner lot.

Once it was lost there for days on end and there would have remained if not for the nose of the spaniel that once chased them...the one with the bark they had not heard for a time, nor spied the wonder of its wagging tail.

The smile of each faded years ago, and they now sit alone in thought, each trying to reach back for that certain day when their young master had last spoken to them as he took them out to play..