Dear Scarf, Return.

by Daniel Young

My furry friend that I have lost,

There is cold air upon my neck.

It longs for your long, snuggle hugs.

It longs for your style and embrace.

It longs to be under wraps.

Away from this shivering nudity.

Perhaps you have found some other fine neck

on which to perch your coils?

Where have you flown, my fine-striped friend?

How I wish to know, by sea or by wind?

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