When I left my father's house,
he looked at me with sad eyes.
I wondered why. Here I was off
to marry the marquis of my dreams
and there he was in the shadows
of a crumbling house
turning into a dream instead.
I wanted to tell him
that I was his daughter
through and true
and he would be proud yet.
But we didn't have time
not for silence nor for words.
So I left my father dusty and alone
and silent and never looked back.

When I returned to my father's house,
he looked at me with love in his eyes.
I wondered why. Here I was because
the marquis of my dreams had become
blood, flesh of my flesh and bone of my bones,
living in an empty house of gold.
The reality of it hurt like a raw wound.
I had to leave.
I wanted to tell my father
that I was his daughter still
but maybe not so true nor so brave
and not so much a cause for pride.
So I told him so in silences and in
still, small words.
My father listened, dusty and alone,
and all he said was
"I'm glad you're back."