Windstorms and tornadoes

Prove most people are made out of playdough

Easy to mold,

Or at least that’s what I’m told.

But hidden beneath that misshapen piece

Is a heart made out of gold,

Or so I’m told.

Too many storms and too little shelter

Make the piece crumble

And begin to tumble,

Or at least that’s what I’m told.

But not one piece

Is sold

Without their story untold.

Sold to a new family,

Sells the heart,

And the broken ones learn how to beat

It really is kind of neat,

But sometimes,

Those hearts lost their beat

After learning it again.

And as the broken heart shrivels up,

The owner takes a deep breath and counts to ten.

“Don’t worry, there will come a day when you will beat again.”