When I was twice as old as five
All I owned was quite alive
Not the breathing, moving kind
But soul and heart songs in my mind.

Every time I opened a drawer
I saw their faces, even more
I heard from the shirts and the socks and the skis
Oh, pick me, pick me, pick me, please.

Silent tears tugged at my heart
But rationales kept emotions apart.
And even though I controlled my mind
The unpicked were still me, left behind.