Hats

Pick one
The hat is on the shelf alone.

Long ago, its owner went away.
The dust is growing deep.

An angry breeze opens the door.
Suddenly the lights go cold.
Night falls like a stone.

Waiting patiently in the dark,
the hat is growing sad.
What it needs is never there.
Yet one more day is only silence.

W. Wayne B.

© 2012 W. Wayne B.
Photo credit: Anty

Follow me on Twitter: @williamwayneb

About W. Wayne B.

I'm a software engineer, a poet and a librarian.
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