Ah, Father
Oh, what a night
for him, guarding
the cicalas glow
in the garden of love,
where damas de noche scent the air
with their rare aroma.
The moon is out,
wild tares teasingly dancing
in the wind. Tonight,
on a table, two pens
and two quills glean the silent hours
while the night roses--
are ready
to bloom. Indeed, they’re lovely
when they begin to open.
Sipping the wine
of anxiety, dad wishes that the night is short
for young love seekers to stay apart.
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