Instead of penning a poem
if I had a heart of gold
would have taken the puppy home
dying out there in the cold.

Useless all my rhyme
creativity a veiled gloom
doesn't matter the sublime
if I can't make some room.

Instead of penning a poem
if my hands could lift up
give it warmth of breast
make there some room.

I confess in full shame
I don't have a heart of gold
don't have the gut to pick
the poor puppy dying in the cold.

My hands smeared with inks
metaphors timeworn old
of plain and shameful lies
while the puppy in the cold dies.

If I had a heart of gold
I would have put the pen down
throwing my writes as trash
give the puppy a home.