by Patsy Jenkins
she hung it on the line to dry:
his favorite jacket - many wondered why.
he would never wear it again;
she knew that, but did it anyway...
’cause the breeze was cool.
strangely, but in a way it did seem
she saw him wearing it - not in a dream,
giving it a tug now and then.
she knew better, but did it anyway...
’cause the breeze felt cool
finally the sun decided to stay
hardening his coat - taking memory away.
time had come to put it aside
she knew this, and did it anyway...
now the breeze was no longer cool.
© 2004 Patsy Jenkins
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