The 8s, dejected, find themselves stranded
Pitifully pushed out, lost in the dark back
Not rejected entirely, since hope persists
Today 12s prevail large, front and center
They’ve become smug in their prominence
Confident now in their long enduring tenure
Of course it’s true that sporadically tiny 6s
Flamboyantly flourished in the coveted spot
And on rare occasions spunky 4s elbowed in
But rosy glasses cloud the hard to swallow
Truth that the tiny eras of 4s and 6s always
Begin as dark times of grief and searing sadness
In retrospect the stable 12s aren’t all that bad
And sensible 10s are just about perfectly crafted
For a healthy closet’s deep breathing peace