Every year he gets tossed aside to bake in the heat of the attic
Pressed against others of his species with no room to breathe
Out of rage he would give you the finger,
But all of his are sewn together
As time passes, the day aproaches
When he will be reborn
At a time of cold, he will again be able to work
And share the warmth that he has collected in his entrails of yarn
Mitten
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