i'm weary of
the stitches torn
from wound of loving you,
tho from your birth my thoughts to you were kind.
no matter what i've tried to do,
you see not petals but the thorn;
thus you reward the love
i hold in mind.

i'm waiting still
when you have need
of friend whose care is pure.
i'll even hide my scars beneath the gauze.
not that my heart is so secure,
or quite immune, or cannot bleed.
but love subjects my will
to higher laws.