She flings the letter at the waste-bin,
followed by her broken heart -
in a
world where love must play the doormat's part?"
It's true that she knows ample of being trampled down,
and things look different from
the ground.
"Where's that book of fables, of childish ever-mores?"
She throws it from the shelf and here it opens on the floor,
where
a song she never understood
has more meaning than before:
"There is, far far away, beyond the darkness of this day,
rest
that the wise will long to find.
A broken world can throw no shade
on a hope that does not fade,
and every shadow will be left behind.
This
is no make-believe far far away."
Fifty years have ambled by and here's a soldier coming home.
Beneath a smile that's paper-thin
he keeps troubled water
in his eyes unknown,
until at night he weeps for the places where he's been
and the bitterness he's seen.
"Can
I believe in goodness
when my eyes are scarred with hate?"
His old gran has heard his cries, and he tells her of his fate.
"Here's a
truth," she says, "not as light as it might sound,
as many years ago I found."
The place that I call home is beyond the
reach of stains,
and so in spite of all I've known of sticks and stones
and words that break more than our bones,
the hope I have remains.