Torn in a give away box.
Sad and forlorn to take home.
A haunting of forgotten poem,
desperately waiting to be remembered.
The rustle of leaves,
Mirrors a chaos in his life.
Closed minded individual,
misses to see the forest through the trees,
One who can't even here the birds chirping,
What a fool he is.
He picked up the basket in which she laid,
Bitten by bugs and miseries, an abandoned girl child.
To stitch and sew.
His treasure, his patchwork, his little girl.
Dressed now with a new found love,
He jewels her in his arm and shields her with his chest.
A beautiful patchwork that no one could tell,
except to peel back her veins
expose the scars within the shells of her perfect smile.
A new relation born, far better than her own blood.
Together they carried their piece of empire,
to plant them out in a row.
Home fires in a dessert
and bridges on the shore.