Dear Father, in weeks past I posed and pained,
To paint thee verse in cerise, gorgeous red,
To communicate the clamour of affection,
To man more wizened, lordly than a scion,
Your words, I sense, as craft and choice as mine,
To honour human mouth and tongue divine,
To not with careless words apply the brine,
Round fragile heart which, unencumbered, shine,
To my mind you speak the solid truth,
A flame to all worlds slumbering souls aloof,
But truth in all your wisdom your discern,
Can see its flickering glow, feel raging burn,
We often cross our paths like two wee duck,
With amity with help from gods and luck,
But my own tongue knows only to defile,
When the vice of devilish vision snare and rile,
But with charity and patience you sweet wait,
Comforting with Buddha smile and gait,
Knowing truth of love in all hearts writ,
To child you hurled your heart, devoted it,
Indulged it's flights of fancy and it's fits,
For Love cannot be quick outsmart by wits,
Thy loving devotion I gratefully receive,
And in thy words find sweet my souls reprieve.