Mulberry Lane is home to an old lady who, the speaker says, seems older than the town itself. What defines her is what she gathers: dusty novels, model airplanes, old dresses, home remedies for "any malady," papers tied up with string, and wooden birds hanging from a beam. The list is a jumble, and that is part of its charm. Nothing in it matches, yet together it paints a cluttered, lived-in world.
The speaker doesn't judge her. The tone is curious and affectionate, almost like someone telling a local legend. Calling her older than the town "must have been" suggests she is half real, half myth, and the speaker is guessing rather than knowing. The mood is quiet, nostalgic, and a little mysterious. Her objects are worn, handmade, or out of date, so she seems to be saving small pieces of the past. The wooden birds, which can't fly, hang still at the end, leaving a gentle, dreamy image.