You accepted my precious gift
But also saved its wrapping.
Stored it in your secret rift
Back in the box for trapping.

There it stayed in your keep
But its presence hurt.
So you bury it six feet deep
Covering thoroughly with dirt.

You worry that it could be found
But you needn't dread.
For there is no beating sound
When the heart is dead.

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Sarapin, in the year 730 AF.