Wearing fresh clothing that I’ll surely soon spoil.
My garment meant only for creative toil.
Its fibers will drink up the clay, paint & ink.
It will hold memories well past soapy sink.
Its first recollection’s of its own ruin.
Soon, it’ll crave to soak one or two more in.
Up next, it will thrive as a work of its own.
A linen bound log of the colours I’ve thrown.
Finally, it will tear or will wear too thin…
So, I’ll select another to create in.
L.B.Stowe 