How many hearts will you break
Before you learn of your mistakes
The wise man asked; his fingers curled
Around hair with the look of grass

How many strangers will you make
Before you learn to give back what you take
The wise man asked; his eyes pinned
Me to the stump on which I sat

How many years yet await
Before you learn of how they ache
The wise man asked; his face loomed
From beneath his weathered hat

More than I can count, I said
For I am young and untried, I said
One day I'll find her and she'll find me, I said
And then what, he said.

A/N: Please critique, I dont think this poem is as good as it could be. And i also need some suggestions for a better title o.o
Please provide some constructive criticism )

no flames, thanks.