They say
that when 
the harp 
is plucked 
so is
the heart
maybe that 
is why 
when I 
hear it
I feel 
it too

I now hang
on some peg
at the end 
of a pier
having many times 
before been chucked 
overboard to save 
some did many
didn’t too many 
lost I now
wait in safety 
retired to this 
just a reminder 
that the seas
of life frequently 
reclaim their own 

No longer wishing 
to roar content 
with whispers to
those who listen 
the rustling leaves 
of my fall
play a music
few will hear 
my years now 
a comfortable porch
and the kind
of sun that 
warms never burning

Finally it’s mine 
back to mine 
this heart that 
was thine it’s 
back to being 
mine it’s a
sign that it’s 
time this rhyme 
no longer chimes
back in mind
this thing a
little heart that’s 
made of twine 

It is the quietest
of people who are 
the wisest for they
have listened to others 
spew nonsense and decided
that a revving mouth 
doesn’t get any further 
than one in neutral