What secret does the rag reveal?
What dark, mysterious past?
Are we to ever know the truth
of why it hangs so fast?
There’s something in the way it sways
when winter’s breeze blows by
that feels so living one must stop
and wait to hear it sigh.
It sighs, indeed, though you must strain
and only some have heard,
but those who have can feel the pain
encompassed in the word.
With pain so deep, it must have lived
in sweet tranquility;
in any other case, it would be happy
to be free.
But not this rag. Although today
it only flutters there,
within its heart, it sighs because
its secrets can’t be shared.
Ariel Rae 