Pinned. I am not a tweet.

I am perfectly kept in one corner

Of that grand wooden almirah.

Pressed. With my mates.

I am the last thing 

Being hurriedly picked up.

And pinned.

I am not a tweet.

I have a deeper history.

I catch the cold

In the winter's race

I cling to the dust

Of the playground maze.

Crumpled during the recess

I provide a niche

To the loudy sneeze.

I remain pinned.

But I am not a tweet.

I have a deeper history.

Caretaker of tears

That run after a wound

I bring back the smile

I fly and dance along

For a kilometer, a meter or a mile.

No matter the rains, cold or summers

My function, but position,

Doesn't regard weather.

An eavesdropper to the story after story

I remain pinned to the little's shirt.

I am not a tweet.

I have a deeper history,

A Plain White Handkerchief

I am.

 Safely Safety-pinned 

To the little's grey sweater.