Ode+to+my+Old+Vest

by Audrey A.
 * Ode to my Old Vest**

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Sitting in my scrapbook Collecting dust, My vest cries to me. He sits there desperately. He weeps, "I must be worn, I must, I must".

Although he does not fit me, I look at him with glee. It warms my heart to know That my great grandma, Nanny, Made him special for me.

He is filled with a beautiful pattern. The vest is a field of golden brown flowers. The wool is as soft as a cloud. The smell of old dust fills my nose.