Crying For A Torn Trouser Poem by Mapatha walter

crying for a torn trouser
it was the only one fabric
the fabric i used to charm with
the fabric i used to put on when going for hot gigs
it was honourable and dignified within it
but there came this scissors
the scissors of shapness and war
steped upon my trouser
and waved thire hands and wings
and went through my only trusted fabric
then it was left naked
unclothed in the midts of good spheres i used to go
stripped among the coated
i am crying for my torn trouser