In hidden crevices, they accumulate with ease,
The coins that jingle, the fluff that teases.
Loose change and pocket fluff, a curious pair,
Forgotten remnants of days beyond repair.

The coins, a medley of copper, silver, and gold,
Cluttering pockets, weighing heavy to hold.
Pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters too,
A metallic mosaic, both old and new.

They rattle and clink, a symphony so bright,
As hands delve deep, searching in the night.
The sound of scraping, the rustle of cloth,
As fingers rummage, seeking what's been lost.

But amidst the clatter, a softer presence lies,
The pocket fluff, a gentle, downy surprise.
A wispy accumulation, soft as a sigh,
A testament to the fabric's worn reply.

Cotton threads and polyester strands entwined,
A fuzzy residue, the result of time defined.
The lint and fibers, once part of a whole,
Now fragmented...