Carrying your heart
Alone in your pocket
You pulled it out from its very own socket
Removed it to another location
Filled the hole
With different concoctions
But quiet it sat alone in your pocket
Uncomfortable
Forlorn
It wept to itself
Tears just one or two or three were felt
No one could hear it
Or feel it
Or touch it
And the hole sat cold
And just a little bit damp
For the pumping of wells were left to the shadows
Unable to function
Though things often sat in it
All would try and give it a minute
But always they would feel the cold and the damp
And then they knew
What this was about
For they were looking for the a pulse and some warmth
But it lay hidden out of sight and out of sorts
Little Wren 