We are worn like winter coats Held close while wild winds rage. The scarf that suffocates the throat The cloak that provokes the rain. While the weather waits and wonders Whether it will weep or thunder, What we wear seems outnumbered, Cotton caught out in the rain.
The coat now hangs forgotten, Left to rot with wet socks, Winter frocks and all things sodden. The ghosts of colder days Locked up and tucked away, Moth eaten and decayed. Waiting for the weather, Wondering if whether We will ever be worn again.