Sunday, January 1, 2012

The Flannel Jacket

It had seen its better days,
that old jacket that he wore
With outside made of flannel,
 there was still use left in store.
He had worn it felling pine trees. 
He had worn it when he carved,
worn it mowing lawns,
and fixing broken cars. 
In the summer it kept rain at bay,
and in winter falling snow.
He’d turn the collar up as
the cold north winds would blow.
He wore it when he fished. 
He wore it when he played.
He wore it when he left the house
or wore it when he stayed.
He was getting kind of tired. 
He was getting kind of old.
He couldn’t remember in younger days
 being bothered by the cold.
But many years can change a man
but he took it all in stride
As he kept that jacket handy
waiting by his side.
I found his old worn jacket,
lying amid his stuff.
With trembling hands I stooped
and gently picked it up.
When my spirit starts to chill,
I put his jacket on.
I wrap its arms around me
to try and get me warm.
At night I hold it in my arms
 as my days come to an end
And pick it up and hold it tight
when a new day starts again.
I feel the jacket’s comfort,
around me as I write
I can feel my husband’s words
telling me that all is right.
Its breast has muffled my crying sobs
and caught my falling tears
I hold it oh so tightly trying
to hold on to long lost years.
It’s just a flannel jacket;
not all it used to be.
But as I hold it tight,
it’s everything to me.

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