The Glove Poem by Phillip Alan Green
The Glove
A glove upon a wall,
Quietly it remains,
For a passing child,
So innocent and small.
Through all the elements it waits,
Cold, longing for the warmth,
Of a young childs touch,
As it sits next to the gate.
Friday, July 4, 2008
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5/1/2024 6:29:23 PM # 1.0.0.1119
