The red JacketA Poem by *In my attic, in a dust-leadon trunk, I found an old red jacket. It bore wrinkles and smelled of mothballs. In one pocket, I found an old smile. But in the burdomesome years since I last wore it I found it no longer fit. In the other pocket, I found joy. But it too felt out of place. I'd worn them both out long ago through the process called life. These days, I'm more likely to find stress, anger, worry, as well as wrinkles on my face that multiply each year. Someday though, I'll find that old jacket whose pockets were filled with hope, happiness and inspiration. They're somewhere in a trunk called belief.
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7 Reviews Added on May 16, 2021 Last Updated on March 7, 2023 Author
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