Scars healing gently

Scabs forming slowly

Thinking – over the worst

Then a trip and fall

Was this a blessing or curse?

Scabs ripped away

Wounds gaping open

 Heart strings rang out

Fresh blood forming a spout

Now knowing beyond doubt

That love had not died out

He just had to Commit

To find a way

To keep old ghosts at bay

Lest the people  say

That his love

Had never died away

Copyright © 2017
Vivian Zems