The Shattered Vase

I dropped a precious, glass vase,
many years ago.
But I couldn't find it in my heart,
to throw it out,
and simply let it go.
Picking up all those beautiful,
shattered pieces,
with scratched and bloody hands,
I stored those jagged pieces,
in the nightstand by my bed. 
I looked at them often,
throughout the many years.
My face hardened with regret,
for I had loved and lost,
and it was all my fault,
for I had dropped the vase,
and such beauty turned to naught.

But one night,
my soul was weary,
and it longed for a good night's rest,
so I drifted off to sleep,
and dreamed a peaceful dream,
the melodies in my tortured soul,
both calming and serene.
I was walking through a meadow,
and I stopped to smell the blooms,
bathed in the half-light,
of a bright, midnight moon,
and when I looked back up again,
my eyes were fixed upon a man,
he lifted his arm in gentle greeting,
and I noticed his scratched, bloody hand.
He spoke such gentle words,
that were balm for my broken heart, 
but he told me that he could not stay,
and that he must depart.
And suddenly I awoke,
I was back inside my bed,
and I thought perhaps,
it had all happened only in my head,
but through my sleep-hazed eyes,
I glanced to the stand right by my bed,
and to my wonder
those shattered pieces,
had been fitted together again.
Certain he had done this,
evidence in his own bloody hands.

My vase, was no longer perfect,
it now wore many scars,
for the years had been cruel,
and it had been badly used.
But I was moved by the fact,
that he took the time,
and filled those cracks with glue,
and this is when I noticed,
a beautiful scent floating in the room,
and inside that mended vase,
he had left for me,
one single, fragrant bloom.