Lost Glove Poem by Deanna Samuels

How forlorn that lost glove looks
Now, into the third week of abandonment
A bright pink puffy mitten, a child's glove
It's partner now of little use, somewhere else
Probably thrown up upon a hall cupboard's top shelf

The pink mitten, left on a black painted wooden bench
A bench sited alongside the path behind the house
Weathering through many changes of elements
Snow, sleet, sunshine, ice, rain and wind
That right hand lost pink glove has stood the test of time

The color still vibrant and deeply pink
No hint of fading, its puffiness still full
So too, the inside lining, white as fluffy cotton
On closer observe, it would seem to be quite new
Oh! What a shame to have lost the glove so soon

One wonders, where is that child today
Were they with their mom or dad, their friends
Was their walk along the path behind the house
A onetime visit or a jaunt on their regular haunt
Visiting the rusty bridge and brook that runs alongside

The forgotten pink glove lies there on that bench
Sometimes I have seen it on the very edge
Another time between the narrow slats
But somehow, with kindly human instinct
The glove is moved to safety when a person passes by

Perhaps hoping too, as with me
That the child to which it belonged
Will one day soon come by, espy it with sheer joy
Happy to retrieve her long-lost pink glove
To pair again the left hand one cast up on the top shelf


Written at Courtice, Ontario - 17th December 2020