(poem) Incomplete

We often do jigsaw puzzles, particularly when we have friends with us.

Incomplete

Robin Ford, March 2018

We bought the jigsaw second-hand as normal,
Though normally we did not choose this kind.
Its ballroom scene was typically formal,
The colours were subdued — not well defined.
We took the puzzle home and cleared a table,
Then moved it underneath the brightest light.
Perhaps we weren’t yet ready — not yet able
To look at it in detail that first night.
In time it gained a hold on our attention,
Despite our struggles with it at the start.
We worked on it in silence, or we’d mention
A thought that came from deep within our heart.
For even if a puzzle isn’t finished,
The closeness it can bring is not diminished.

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