Within the slightly curled up flesh and bone
Your mind rejects your man's attempt to lead
You back to our first loving dawn.

I sit upon the bed and gaze and gaze upon
Your lovely face and golden hair and stop
Myself from clasping you as in the days long gone:

While more than once you look at me
And say "I'm sorry John," which only makes
Me wonder what or who can make you free.

Even in your own distress you show your love
For me, our son and all our friends. Were I
A praying man, I'd curse the powers that be

For failing to ensure that you who do
No harm should never shake so cruelly.