Pieces of Me (re-edited)

A very old poem updated

A piece of me dried up 

Shrivelled away

like early rose buds.

Claret ears caught napping

by late spring frosts.

they say old soldiers do that

I will not miss it.

Ignore now the whining

of headmistress voices

that burrowed through walls.

Extracted drops of golden

Elixir de Compassion

from my hard heart.

Stolen by capricious thieves.

Taken under false pretences

to claim as their own.

Bits of me have died before.

Layers of love’s cat-like lives

flaking and falling away

leaving onion tears that quickly dry.

Few go though life never losing one.

Some have every layer torn free

by others’ weaknesses

or their own.

leaving them as brittle fallen leaves.

Most shed sadness a few times

embracing the fresh flesh beneath

and die with unused layers.

Such is love.

I have layers left.

And I plan to use them wisely.