It was her dark green handkerchief,
With an even darker perfume stain right in the middle.
She had put two sprays, like always, from her favourite glass bottle
And tucked it herself inside your shirt pocket.
Later that day, in between sobs and almost choking
On that lump in your throat, you told her how sorry you were.
That you didn't mean to lose her dark green handkerchief.
She laughed and laughed. "It doesn't matter, you dodo. I'll buy a new one."
But you just wouldn't stop crying, and just couldn't explain
That you weren't really upset about the dark green handkerchief.
But, for a few hours that day, from lunch till school got over
You couldn't smell Maa on you.
And that is the worst thing that can happen to a five-year old.
Or a thirty five-year old.
