Bright Chapeau

Life is a heavy hat, we wear it, and we learn to bear it, as we age the debris grows, bright chapeau that once was trimmed with flowers attains a brim of dirty crows, that peck and eat our dreams, crap filthy ropes and jump upon the battered crown weighing down upon our ancient heads, yet somewhere underneath the mess, we smile warriors all, those of us who tread the long and weary miles, for we have hope, that small and shrunken ghost companion of our youthful days she follows as we turn each corner not quite the cheerful girl she used to be but clinging on, the wraith of expectation