Old Coat

Hail and brittle ice bounce against the threads
And the warmth of the this fabric spreads
To the limbs that are constant occupants.
Faded cloths and mended patches are seen at a glance
Despite the wool, stalwart black,
Shielding the green silk stretched slack,
Tucked into pocket and sleeve.
Left on rack or chair to take reprieve
It awaits the next quest,
Or chance to be cuddle to the chest
Of the little girl who so loves it
Until it must retire to the closet.

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