Like a second skin, I slip you on, Warming to the old leathers. Stroking your faded stains from forgotten times, And beaten colours of our hippie days.
So long have we known each other, Like old friends. Content with a dangling conversation, And loose threads.
Oh, what stories we have! Saved in a little box. To be brought out on special occasions, Aged like a fine wine.
We were wild back then, Unstoppable in our hemp skirts. We were free back then, No starched uniform could contain us.
Quietly, I slip you off and fold you away. Tuck mothballs in your pockets. Perhaps once more we will dance in the moonlight, For now, that is the past. But oh - what style we had!