She wears her scars like a blanket of comfort,
Not minding what people had to say about them,
Because she knew that these weren’t ordinary scars,
They were scars of transformation, ...
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!