He looked around
is it my socks? They are lost but found.
Is it my room? It is the place where I hold my ground.
Is it my dog? He's everything but a hound.
For there was a rotten smell,
Oh, it is growing from the left where the hearts dwell!

He looked inside
Is it the unforgiven mistakes? He stayed sorry and, he cried.
Is it love? He waits resolutely till, denied.
Is it the vices, envy, distrust & their kin? He fights them till they hide.
As the stench got closer.
Oh, somehow it broke and, the clots give out the odour.

He took it in his hands,
the fragile thing came off, like drool from the glands
trying to mend the dark-pink, swift and, soft like mink
he should be delicate while it expands
and don't stretch too much of its worn-out bands
there's nothing but to try till he stands.