Jack

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...