Drying in the Gentle Breeze

Hung by a clothespin, hanging on a line, I dry in the gentle breeze. 

This isn't the first time I've been hung up to dry in the gentle breeze. 

I've been worn, a little torn, while playing in the gentle breeze. 

My wearer's spilled grape soda on me while drinking in the gentle breeze.

I've seen him run and splash through puddles without a care in the world, and I've seen him cry in his mother's arms when he fell and scraped his knee. 

I know it's not much, the picture I make, just hanging in the gentle breeze, but I wouldn't be anything else than a shirt, hung by a clothespin, hanging on a line, drying in the gentle breeze.