Her tiny fingers
Commanded I live
And subsequent requests
Engendered her worldwide knowledge.

I am something
Times many somethings
And she is me
Cubed to the power of three.

My wayward wants and casual lusts
Taught her young of all the usual haunts
She would keep me in line
For a goodly time
But soon liquor and women would e'er undo me.

In deepest woe I'd approach
My young charge at her worst
Consume all throwables
Yet hug her tightly to my chest.

And toward my Mom I'd quake
Without even a choice to make
I'd offer some symptom of obeisance
Even as she waved off the cretinous.

My young love would
Magically invoke the same
And before I knew it
I was grovelling at my mother's grave.