Rarishy Poems

Digging through bins
and old pieces of scrap
the girl reached for corsage.

Bit and bobs,
odds and ends
all the
missing pieces
piled on a table
right there
next to her.

The girl had some skill
for threading the needle,
but never as much as the tailor.
Still, she pushed on
with hoof and wing
and fabric miscellanea
laid across
model form
poked together,
multicolored thread
and zig zag patterns
polka dot
and clear.

It took some time
and even more work
to assemble the pieces
of the skirt,
together
in one.
Beautiful, sort of.

Folded, neatly
in a small box
wrapped in colored paper
alongside a
note
for the tailor.

"I'm sorry that it's
a little mis-matched
but at least it's not so tattered.
If you open your heart,
I think you might find
this skirt is a little like me."