Puddles of old raindrops,
Fog nipped at those wettened edges,
Dew collected on their uniforms,
Fitted just for them,
Many times had she resewn them,
Each time cutting fingers,
Opening old wounds that bled,
It wasn't her territory and yet,
She endured for them.
Johnathan remembered telling her no,
I'll do it myself, she smiled and handed his torn clothes,
To nothing more than ten.