The Father

Some saw him as a gifted author Others aware but didn't bear to bother He only cared to be there unlike his father At first it was the worst he started to Pother Even the air wasn't fair For the Young scholar He didn't dare lift a hair As she took away his toddler Her anti social dispair Desperately needed a doctor The pain he sweared Was hell as the degrees increase much hotter He was tired like a spare But kept his head above water They said on contraire As they began to uneven the totter He was there to declare Yet their sins entered pins like a cotter Wounded impaired Held together with solder The two were a pair Father and son, no daughter Indeed its not rare That the sick pick who to slaughter Ill leave it right there With the thoughts caught left to wonder