Her red sweater,
Is pretty normal,
Nothing too casual,
Nothing too formal,
Of all she owns,
It is the best,
Though it isn't pricier,
Than all the rest,
With all her life,
She values it,
If it was lost,
She'd lose her wits,
She wants to cry,
Late at night,
Holding to it,
With all her might,
Her sweater isn't special,
Not at all,
Except he bought it for her,
At that half-price stall,
He's gone now,
Too soon after he met her,
So she'll keep holding on,
To her red sweater.
© LoveLaughTears
- 2010
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry
PoetrySome of my poems. I can't say if they're 'dark' or 'light' if you know what I mean, because there is a mixture.. But I must warn you; I mainly right poetry when I'm a leetle depressed... So you have been warned.. :L
