The brittle cold of dark did kiss; did tend;
Caressed me; chased me, though kept me distraught.
A shaky pair of limbs, bloody and hot,
With a cry to victims I did not lend.
The caring whisper of a distant friend:
In the place of a father that was not;
The tears that a morbid soul hence forgot.
He has carried that soul…start, middle, end.
So why does he ask if it’s love I feel?
He sawed off those tormented limbs forced to
Run, as darkness swallowed me up; me all.
His beaming smile shone and screamed, “Get real!”
To the sorrow. This love came overdue.
From ridding legs, he taught me how to fall.