He’s tough alright.
He has a thick crusty shell
That doesn’t hide his battle scars
But his eyes, when he will hold my gaze, ask me.
In our difficult beginning, when we are together late
He becomes an old, old man
Under the influence of darkness, and the Mocker.
I grow cold and humbled.
Yet in the light of morning,
I see the little boy in him, struggling to hide his pain
And I can believe that my place is with him.
Perhaps it is young of me to pass up what I do to love him
My heart continues to want to put faith in him.
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