Overworn, small, ripped, and smelling musty,
my jacket has seen the best of its day.
Comfortable as ever, just quite dusty,
I pray that you never throw it away.
It may be old yet it is so trusty;
it has forever kept cruel wind at bay.
Full of age, yet full of fond fun laughter,
it has it's own mind, and own tales to tell
that no other jacket could replace after.
The rip on the shoulder from when I fell,
which always looked scruffy thereafter;
memories that I could neither bin nor sell.
Learn to embrace imperfections as yours
for discarding pieces leave old doors closed.
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