My Father the Craftsman Part I
Death of mother hallowed out silence
more painful then buzzing power tool,
aye never again saw,
nor heard industriousness jollity eviced,
contrasted when mourning did rule
wrought immediate cessation
from his strong lance throwing arms,
where artisanal magic did un spool
and ample tears streamed down raw cheeks
enough to fill a pool
uncertain if sparring with depression sprung
via loss of a Coney Island jewel
whose poverty she claimed (shamefully)
most meals comprising thin gruel
rescuing a damsel in distress thence deceased didst fuel
unwonted burded, and forced him to spar
with fear he might lose the duel
left alone in a old mansion
with only fond fading memories utmost cruel.
Copyright © Matthew Harris | Year Posted 2017
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