If I should ever have to choose to be
a pocket or a coat, my answer is a pocket, plain.
Oh yes, to wrap the world in warm is fine,
to comfort children caught by snow or storm,
to zip and tuck unhappy souls on luckless roads, no doubt.
But still I think I wouldn’t choose to be a winter coat.
Why then, you ask, a pocket?
If I may catch the crumbs of something good and gone,
contain the angry fist, relax the anxious palm;
if I may hold a handkerchief where precious tears are pressed,
keep safe a favourite glove, or perhaps a letter felt and left;
if I may hold a secret till it’s ready to be spoke,
then a pocket plain and simple would I choose above a coat.
aplaceforpoetry 
Lovely, eloquent; who would have thought to write about pockets and coats? But you’ve laid the words out so nicely
Hmm, yes, strange indeed how the mind works x
Ah! I’m in love with your words. Your pocket is filled with this poem, and how beautifully you have evoked such tiny details.
Aesthetically penned. How good it makes me feel, Julia. Wow!
There is beauty in it, welcoming peace, and a connection that is universal.
You made a point. Love it. Keep writing. 🙂
I am touched by your response, Pawan. If we keep writing and reading in our different ways, we will discover more tiny connections between us all, which have the power to heal x
Yes. I agree with you, Julia. It would help the soul. 🙂
I really wasn’t sure where this was going at first, but then I got it.
‘… precious tears are pressed…’
That moved me.
It was going into your pocket x
That’s a first class reply. Clever but not clever clever
Dunk