Some lit theirs at both ends.
Some clutched theirs as a blind man does his cane.
Some sucked theirs like the only orange.
Some packed clean shirts and a few socks in theirs.
Some spent their lives looking for theirs and they
were wearing it all the time.
Some neglected theirs but the roots found a way.
Some buried theirs. The stones tell when and where.
W. S. Merwin