When Moths Break Through

I knit this sweater long ago
And think you did not like it so
Keeping it there within your chest
No matter that it fit you best.

Somehow I think it slightly queer
That all these years you held it dear
Yet never put it on to wear
Despite your wish to show you dare.

But now that forty years have gone
And nimble fingers turned to stone,
You take my sweater out with pride,
Indeed there’s little time to hide.

You think it right to speculate
When blood’s too thick to circulate,
How holes inside this sweater grew
But still, you say, it looks like new.

Those thieving moths cut through my care
Though larvae stopped but moments there
Where heart might once have been
Gathering strength to fly again.

[Undated poem by Virginia McKinnon Mann.]