Father and Son

There is oft an awkward tilt Twixt a father and a son. 'Tis as if a sense of guilt Overshadows each one. No mention is made of it Pretending it isn't real. Neither is willing to admit It's a feeling both do feel. The words they speak Are wrung from the tongue Unduly forced and meek Like a song weakly sung. What subdues them is the fact That father must yield to son. Thus they artfully act As if the truth were undone. But truth will wield its way, An aged practice will abide. Then for son will come a day When he too must step aside. It's a pattern as old as the skies This tilt twixt father and son. It drives generations to rise, It's the way the earth is run.