From the closet I withdrew,
  my most favorite sweater - like new,
over my shoulders I placed it on,
  then noticed something was gone.

Beginning at the bottom,
  I buttoned on-by-one,
there still was a draft,
  even when I was done.

Something was just not right,
  couldn't tell what was amiss,
there were only five buttons,
  only one did I miss.

Gone, no more daily paper,
  last one, not another wafer,
snowflakes turned to light shower,
  bare stalk, now barely a flower.

As a button lost off a dress,
  these things would I miss,
the gaze from your eye,
  the gently sweet taste of your kiss.

Only one that is missing,
  one buttonhole left incomplete,
an echo through a deep chasm,
  no reply, just a repeat.

I could sew on another,
  but that just wouldn't be,
a suitable replacement,
  or who you are to me.
© 2003 Randolph D. Brown, Jr.,