Jigsaw Heart

                                                                                        A love story that had never been told,

Of how time didn’t let two heart halves become whole,

A romance that had dated from decades ago

Was recently raked up in the gardens of an old folks’ home,

Star-crossed sweethearts who had possessed matching souls.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Molly, a bright young colleen, hadn’t set out to cause any harm,

When she fell in love with a dapper chap, Jim, who hailed from a neighbouring farm,

She’d go weak at the knees every day as she cycled past, in awe from afar,

Then after Mass one Sunday, when he returned to her a wink and her pink crocheted scarf,

It was the moment that confirmed his place in her heart.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      By fate they met the next day outside the Travel agents on Pinewood Street,

As she gazed into his emerald eyes she went dewy-eyed and felt her heart leap,

Then, when his lips whispered, “Is this destiny?”, she struggled to breathe,

Though it was the name of the agency, she knew what he could mean,

From then on, there could be no other man for whom she would weep.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Soon they embarked bravely on romantic adventures together alone,

If he wanted to surprise her, on her bicycle basket, he’d leave a blue paper note,

Inviting her to afternoon picnics and evening chats under the stars – symbols of hope,

Wishing on shooting stars for peace in their future – as they had planned to elope,

But with oppressive parents and Jimmy’s conscription, Molly felt unable to cope.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         The news of Jimmy’s death a month later seemed almost impossible to believe,

Like the love story that now seemed almost unbearable to receive,

When Molly was gardening one fine day and found a perfectly symmetrical leaf,

A heart to hurl her right back to when he was just twenty one and she was only seventeen,

Once again, those sleepless nights would return, nights of nursing heartache and grief.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 The most poignant recurring memories were the ones before the war, at the very start,

Of sharing an ice cream cone at the seaside, and Molly daring to ride on the handlebars,

The nostalgia would shatter her heart freshly into pieces, yet she’d gaze each night at the stars,

And imagine his reassuring emerald eyes so that reality couldn’t keep them apart,

He would always be the only one to piece together the fragments of her heart.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                A love story that had never been told,

Until the day a leaf appeared, telling of a romance that had turned as cold,

As the bold young man, one half of the jigsaw that longs one day to become whole,

Though the children of our only daughter would consider us wrinkled and old,

Neither grandchildren nor dementia could forget our hearts of gold.