Jigsaw Soul
Each passing day puts on display
a puzzle piece of jigsaw soul.
Providing parts to add to hearts,
from halfway done to fully whole.
The bygone years are souvenirs,
the trinkets of a time gone by;
though caked with rust, dried blood, and dust,
they stain, then fade, but never die.
The decades roll and ring a toll
for lessons taught but slowly learned.
Experience, with common sense,
shall grow, rebuilding bridges burned.
The wisdom found on weathered ground
repays, with interest, youthful debt.
Each piece a shred, profusely bled,
but, joined as one, a finished set.
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