From shadow
A wounded, angry child
Abandoned in the fields
Of childhood
Learned to forgive and trust
When a beautiful garden
Was planted there.
Now we sometimes visit coffee shops.
I drink hardy exotic brews;
She samples the
Sweet things under glass.
I write as
She tells me
Her secrets;
A world of things
From her heart,
In the light of busy souls
Who don’t even notice
We are becoming whole again.
Sweet Things Under Glass
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