The morning came with numbing cold,
and froze the smile of spring’s sweet hope,
its  merciless touch, a beggar’s home,
a sneering crowd , a  hangman’s rope.

For long ago he  knew the game,
the twists and turns, the hollow fame…
his heart exposed, the wicked blade,
that draws the blood that love hath made,

flow warm from wounds he did not see,
so deep inside it hurt to breathe.
To pray and find that this might be,
his  only answer… The time to leave.

to save the child inside of me.