They say you nearly died when you were two,
miraculously saved by surgeon’s art,
your pain immense. Outside, like some spare part,
your mum knew there was nothing she could do.
That pain has faded to a memory,
though tears and torment cannot be undone:
the scar around your body has become
a silent witness to your agony.
But now you’re facing hurt that goes more deep
within your spirit than a surgeon’s blade.
You know my help can only go so far,
for love is forced to wait, and pray, and weep.
The promise is one day this too will fade,
and I will find, befriend, and kiss the scar.
Wild Bill Balding
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/operation-3/
