Little boy lost,
big boys treat.
Young boy thought,
that his teacher might help;
teacher's pet of kind he thought
he'd never be.
Wonderful wife, and children, who,
have loved, and cherished him, too.
Why can't she put up with, the new
of him, who grows into
the stronger man he was always to be,
and yet he feels that he is still pieces,
not whole, waiting for his life to go,
not stalled any longer, but moving and creating,
literally radiating.
"Come back," he sounds so piney, to his wife of so many, years that they have shared of life they had many.
"Why, now, leave me lonely," feels like the little boy all over, again not whole, but in pieces, of me.


"No soul is desolate as long as there is a human being for whom it can feel trust and reverence."
George Eliot