O Love, flow, not furiously,
'tween me and my father,
Our feet feel the heat of hate;
Go on, and we'd wade farther.

What he thinks is not mine,
And what I do is not his choice,
So enmity stands strong here;
I'd follow him now at his voice.

Our thread got thin and thinner,
And on separate sides we've fallen;
I'd stitch both with bows and beauty
Of my behaviour, and we'd be one.


He needs my shoulders this time,
Oh, he strolls solitarily everywhere;
O Love, come to us in a flash; I'd
Carry him till he retires to bed there.