I walked him over the hills every Sunday
They called the boy funny, difficult, yet cute
His eyes bore into mine hearing his pain, yet mute
No past to ever speak of
Found during a trip alone, only He knows what he endured
To return to me in my loneliness
To find each other as we were both healing
By anothers pain
I lost him when he was 8
Let me pretend that it’s not too late, is it he who came back? Maybe its Jack...