Small, hurt and left to wither, I picked it up and brought it hither.
Small: I passed by unaware.
Screaming in silence, this thing
Was pointed out to me- surprised
That I passed by unaware.
Hurt: it had its senses numbed
To stop the pain from bothering,
Yet even its joy was smothering
From having its senses numbed.
So fragile a thing I could not leave
To be withered away; exposed to the wind
In the dark with the fiends all around.
Picked up, I now did not want it to leave.
I brought it home and gave some warmth,
At least I had to try. Even if I
Could bring but one tear to one eye,
It will prove that it can feel some warmth,
But that small, hurt thing I brought back with me ran away to be free.