It caught my eye,

the miniature hand of wool so carefully placed upon the wall, against the stone, 

a brilliant white,  soft and pure as the infant skin it once graced.

It draws,

few casual glances and I know it was by a simple kindness found, sad thoughts of tiny blue fingers prompted it’s rescue from the frozen ground.

They will not

notice it’s loss, and for a mitten will not pass again. No it will soon be in the dirt once more,

but this act of simple kindness will there remain.

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