In Paris, I left
My hat
On a park bench
Underneath a lantern,
Underneath the crescent
Moon.
It was a lovely
Hat, quite
A looker,
Quite a spectacle in its
Own right;
But the lining was torn,
The lining was worn,
The lining was torn
At the seams,
And no wonder I left
My hat
On a park bench,
In Paris, underneath a lantern,
Underneath the crescent moon,
For though it was lovely
In brilliant magnitude,
Its design was worse for wear,
Its design was coming
Undone;
But how could I have, in Paris,
Left my hat
On a park bench.
T. DM
p.s this poem is incomplete
Poetry and Prose by Teresa Di Matteo 
looks to me like it can stand as it is. whatever the hat stands for, this somehow reminds me of the phrase “the end of innocence.” this is a lovely poem, as always.
Thanks for reading (it really means a lot). I’m a bit conflicted about whether or not I should keep going with this. If eventually I have something more to say here I will, but for now it will be as it is.
you’re most welcome. may i ask if that’s a gibson acoustic guitar in your gravatar?
It is a Simon and Patrick twelve string. Their guitars are absolutely lovely. They’re really smooth guitars.
i didn’t notice it’s 12-string. i haven’t seen a Simon and Patrick up close. i’ll check them out. thanks! 🙂
I dont see how this one is incomplete either. It has a rather perfect ending
Thanks. Most people I’ve showed this poem to also say it’s complete, but perhaps you can relate to the fact that many artists think their work is always incomplete.
Ha, Yes most definitely, I can relate.