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.

Follow me on Twitter: @williamwayneb

About William Wayne Smith

I'm a poet, library fan and maker.
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