Inside me the pain is hard to locate,
If I shut my eyes and concentrate,
My brain seems to tell me, it’s somewhere between,
The big toe, the sternum, the heart and the spleen.
It’s a feeling, that’s sweet, and although happy, it’s wan.
There’s a pulsation within that just swims on and on.
If I search hard inside me, I know I can find,
The reason I no longer have control of my mind.
It’s my thirteenth rib, it’s unique and it’s true.
You can only grow one, if you say “ I love you.”
A remedy for it, there must surely be?
A surgeon may help – with a “missectomy”
Removing this rib, although very traumatic,
He inserts a prosthesis, milk, honey and magic.
Milk is soothing, calming and good for the brain,
Maybe now I can breathe deeply, and then sleep again.
Honey is a sweetness that feels eclectic,
A biochemical influx of glucose electric.
Milk and honey, a tried and tested combination,
May they soon be, a part of my salvation?
So , magic follows then, with a wave and a flourish,
A medicinal potion inside me will nourish.
An abracadabra to seal my poor wounds,
And remind me the “missing” will be over soon.
The thirteenth rib, like a corkscrew it burrows,
And ripples of anguish flood through me in furrows.
God made us with twelve, this rib must have a reason,
The thirteenth rib could be just like a new season?
Not summer or spring, or autumn or winter,
The new rib, is feels, just like a big splinter.
It pierces the skin and lies somewhere below,
But my tweezers can’t grasp it, wherever they go!
Now if you indeed own this anatomical find,
You alone, will understand my tortured mind.
The thirteenth rib, will grow when we’re parted,
True love means together or else broken hearted.
A thirteenth rib, if seen on a scan,
Means health and happiness, as only love can.
If I count your ribs gently, there’s 13, it’s true,
And if you then count mine, I have 13 too!
So if you miss me, and I miss you as well,
The thirteenth rib has a tale to tell.
To dissect it out, is a big operation,
And we may then both need, resuscitation!
The thirteenth rib, a special function it follows,
To assist the heart with it’s sadness and sorrows.
It serves as sort of memory hook,
Of precious moments, and events, in life’s ongoing book.
The thirteen the rib, a rare anatomical find,
If you have one, No, you are not out of your mind.
A thirteen rib is an enviable bone,
If you have one, you will never have to be alone.
My 13th rib is crazy for a mate,
Can we bash ribs together please, and procreate?
Until you left, I didn’t know it was there,
But now it’s really, very hard to bear.
My 13th rib, I grew it for you,
As I knew, only you, would have one too.
My 13th rib, it’s there to stay,
As I love you more, each and every day.
A poem for Edward from Daisy with all my love xx