The Haplessness of My Father

Yesterday I heard a crow sing a simple song Stitching wearily her nest of stick and plastic... The breeze pulsing smoothly over her black coat but no one to share it with. " Resent and wretch ": fathomless knowledge I have of my father's haplessness. Cold is the skin he lives under, His wrinkles, can you picture a shirt from a dog's belly? Soreness and pensionless efforts are the stones in his beans, Yet his resolve is a rhino raging unto a wild fire, such is a thread in the robe of living; When life brings wars, it chooses who fights them For strife comes only to the bubbed-wire hearted; Sorrows of the heart are costs of living but sorrows of my father are sorrows of him alone, No one wishes to partake in the woes of his life. But today, a serpent of bitumen leads to home, Between my father and I are six hundred miles of country beseeching my prodigal heart. 28/01/18 Copyright © All Rights Reserved