Hanky of Tears

In my drawer I see it huddled
Memories to haunt my dreams
Each age spot is a thought
The good, the bad, the everything.

It’s softness fills me with love when I touch it
Soft like emotions with his children
Fragile like the man prior to his passing
Yet it holds together with the strength of his love.

Smells of him are long gone
Only stale musty aromas linger
Yet his 'Old Spice’ remains in my mind
And the ‘Listerine’ memories keep it all fresh.

The rust stains on the cloth
Are not indicative of his neatness
The crumples that now exist
Were never part of his attire.

Yet I hold onto this treasure
I value all it represents
Yet I would burn it in a heartbeat
If it meant I could have its owner back.