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.