Magic Shoes

I went to this funeral. It wasn't a funeral. I mean a woman did die, but it wasn't a funeral. Forgot what you call it. I brought my book, and I went up to the attic where I found all kinds of treasure. I walked through this gallery of old lace, well worn pink and yellow dresses, fabrics and ribbons strewn into one another, weaved delicately and laying on the ground, atop the bed, and in vintage drawers. I opened a music box. A ballerina popped out and I found a pair of magic shoes. A shiny plastic cover over glittered red high heels. There were sparkly stars and ruby rhinestones sealed under and glued to this small pin. I don't have anything quite right for my magic shoes, but I'll find something good enough one day. I put them in my pocket, and I read my book.