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Tis Naught But Tattered Cloth


Such an over-worn tattered cloth, edges frayed, many miles hard traveled

stretched and straining to carry its burdens, keeping safe and protected precious things

small rips and yellowed with stains it is weary, yet refuses to be unraveled .


Such an over-used tattered cloth, silent companion, doing its job as expected

unfailing and uncomplaining it works on, carrying others load to and fro dutiful and proud

only the seams giving testimony to its struggle, its will giving way undetected.


Such an over-handled tattered cloth, pattern faded, not so lovely as it had been long ago

left behind in the sunshine it has weathered, feigning vanity it seems not to notice its age

somehow diminished by loss of vibrancy, and in the faded, wrinkled fabric sorrows show.


Such an over-looked tattered cloth, they hunt for it, but only when they are in need of aid

sought and needed when purpose to serve, too easily left on the shelf, unseen and forgotten

knowing its only value lie in what it can do, realizing it will be easily replaced, little fuss to be made.


Such an over-worn tattered cloth, feeling its softness, under kind yet offhand reminiscent caress

so many memories in this vessel, helping and protecting, giving of itself in spite of cost to itself

understanding that as it is with this satchel, it shall be with life, in the end but memories do we possess.

Karen Quinn 2014


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