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.