We create the textures of our soul,
from the young all the way to our old.
Some soft as downing,
some hard as nails.
Some fast as gazelles,
Some slower than snails.
But the textures differ as time goes on,
Of which we seem to all grow fond.
Some change as our time goes by,
Some fade away, viewed of eye.
But the texture of it that rubs one raw,
Will be what really remains, in anothers craw!
Linda Winchell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-texture-of-your-soul/
