Fear not, my friend:

For my friend who's art locker was stolen. He'll never read this poem. I wrote it because the words were flying through my head.

Fear not, my friend:
A home is a place to fill your head,
to feed your soul, to sleep in bed.
A shallow hole is where you hide
the things you want or need inside.
When winter's cold or summer's heat
cheats you from your hole, discrete,
just find another and persevere,
a locker isn't why you're here.
Stay the course. Don't hate your peer.
Lockers are stolen every year.