Armour Soft As Snow

Every scarf holds patterns,
Wrapped in their tiny folds,
But only mine hold secrets,
Every one I’ve been told.

These scarves are flowers captured,
And the impish bottled wind,
Little giggled memories
All caressing my skin.

Even when I sit alone,
Shaking like a wreck,
I know I can puff my chest,
And wrap one ‘round my neck.

I wear them like a blanket,
An armour for my shame,
I don one and suddenly,
No jeer or jab’s the same.

A different face each one of them,
Hanging row on row,
Though they are just some fabric,
They are armour soft as snow.