Folded in stacks,
hanging on wires
rolled up socks
into shapes like tires.
Stiff and lonely
yet fully coloured
bright pastels
left abandoned,
deep blacks
like drawing pencils
or a blunt axe.
But despair no more!
For life is breathed in
to these clothes once more;
when they’re worn
they’re no longer forlorn.
Their colours radiate
as if newly born
their beauty’s innate.
Entirely different, if they were
simply left hanging on those hooks
waiting for monsieur.
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