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Far back in the closet,
Hanging on a hook,
The old blue and white flannel,
A keepsake from my youth.
Most would say,
It's just a rag,
Not good for nothing else.
I put it on from time to time,
In case it still might fit.
The buttons gone,
The collar worn,
Both pockets filled with holes.
To me that doesn't matter,
Not a single bit.
Fore it's in the memories,
Memories of my youth.
Of fishing trips and camping,
Hiking in the woods.
Cool autumn days, cold winter nights,
It always kept me warm.
To see it hanging there,
Always brings a smile,
Like an old friend not seen in years,
Old but not forgotten.
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the tattered shirt
the tattered shirt
