This is a poem I wrote back in 2008 to noone in particular...
This big, bright world,
is like a drawer full of lace,
though I am but a leftover rag;
quite awkward, uneasy,
and so out of place.
Lace is chosen
by those with whom they connect.
and selecting their own special piece;
they want their lives
to be so perfect.
Then stew they will
when things go terribly wrong.
Their lace gets soiled, stained and tattered.
For this worlds special lace
doesn’t last too long.
They’re all sewn up,
still seeking what cannot mend....
But this leftover rag- this old scrap of burlap;
though nowhere near perfect,
is still your special friend.
©2008 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED