Heart

In quiet chambers of the chest it lies,
A scarlet drum, a steady, beating tide.
It hums beneath the ribs, a whispered sigh,
That pulls the blood through veins where life resides.

When love awakes, it flutters like a moth,
Against the glass of hope, a fragile wing.
It swells with joy, it aches with honest sorrow,
Each pulse a story, each throb a song we sing.

In stillness, it recalls the fierce and kind,
The tender touch, the fierce, unyielding fight.
A steady lantern in the darkest night,
Guiding us home with courage, pure and bright.

So let us cherish this relentless organ,
Not just a pump, but keeper of our soul—
The heart, in British beat, forever thrums,
A quiet empire, whole and uncontrolled.