And I Will Tell You What My Father Is
His eyes do speak of countless words
Resembling edge of poignant swords
And fist of him are lightning bolts
And voice can raise a drowsy molt
And curse do slip on lips that cracked
To pious heart it lands the mocked
To wrung the soul from deep within
And left a spot of great disdain.
If thou will grasp his every word
Thou will end in doom that moored
So arm thyself with fervent verve
That thou will slept with triumph served.
He’s my father and things won’t change
So still by hope my heart will love
To keep in heart that all his stench
May end one day and hope is all I have.
Copyright © Ruth Wrights | Year Posted 2017
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