The Aran Jumper

the cables, ribs and herringbones
I could not see -
its lack of colour blinded me.

I put on layers
beneath its prickly wool,
but somehow bits still got through.
Eventually, I flung it it in a ditch,

unaware of how warm it had kept me
all through those uncomfortable years.

Tristan Moss

If you have any comments on this poem, Tristan Moss would be pleased to hear from you.