A bit worn at the elbows Yet so soft and comforting But because it's on its last thread I'm torn with indecision; Should I toss it, Buy a new one? And if I surround myself With the unaged, the innocent Will it cease my aging? But I will not toss it away. It will hang in my closet Letting the moth holes get larger Letting the sun bleach away further its color. For a gentler hand is all it needs.
Reason for writing:
I submitted this poem because it gives an honest view on how I feel about age.
Birth sign: Not entered
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