Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Worn Satchel


To resolve your confliction,
you left me behind,
like an old worn satchel
that had gone out of style.

You forgot the days I held you together,
with the love of my energy glue,
and that there was not one single wish
I did not bestow upon you.

But in your silent haste to depart,
to leave the heart that you bled until dry,
you forgot that in the lining not torn in the back,
in the shadows, was the silver in the lining of life.

There hidden was the treasure
that you sold your soul for,
there you left my love,
a love spun of pure gold.

That satchel that you saw
as so old, faded and worn,
held more value in time
than all the money you stored.

But one man’s trash
is another man’s score,
and that same torn satchel
was seen for its richness, even though worn.

It was not baggage,
and it was not to be left in the trash,
for it held a heart truly worthy,
filled with a love that would last.