She left a bit of her soul
on the council estate,
where graffiti was daubed
on a wooden gate.
And a bit of her soul
was left behind
at her old school desk,
with her injured pride.
And a bit at the bank,
her very first job,
where she'd fallen hard
for a bloke called Bob.
And a little bit more,
when her husband died
and the sheets got wet
from the tears she'd cried.
And a bit more still
as the debts piled high
though she hid them all
from her children's eyes.
And she feels
she left a part of her
at every port of call,
and she
mourns the loss
of each little bit
of her sad and
splintered soul.
Ruth Walters
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-splintered-soul/
