Dearest Father, I know you are sad For i am the son No one would really have. Still you love me And gods know its true For no one would do As much as you Have done for me My dearest father.
Father, I remember the story of a poet Who died hungry, And how only a few Acclaim fame in this virtue, But, He did not die angry Father As many people do. As many people do.
I know not Father, Of what would become of me. Literature has bit me and set my mind free. Of all things uncertain in this world Poetry is the purest of love, For it makes me write about you My dearest Father, The only man I love. The only man I love.