the heart

I was going to bury it in my garden, but thought a dog would dig it up.
In a cage it was sad and lonely; the slow red thump rattling the iron bars.

I was going to lock it in a castle tower, but feared a passing prince would storm the barricade.
And in the sea it would only poison the fishes and float to shore once more.

So I kept it in my chest. Where neither I, nor it, would find any rest.