Beneath the grey shawl
I still shiver and tremble,
It shrouds my figure
Yet is devoid of the warm ensemble.
Sparingly I look up
Or try to search
The tattered shawl needs a mend
Few stitches shall repair the imperfect shred.
With a needle of courage
A thread of hope
I hide the patch and refurbish
It’s a new wrap in possession
The old torn is nowhere…
Water wont seep in
through the pores of this mantle ever…
soumyav 