Belongs To Me.
Over the mountains as he strides,
I hear this old man's voice,
Pearcing though eyes through envious spectacles.
He calls my name, I feel betrayed.
He calls again,
Again and again,
Till I by my unwillingness am forced to turn.
He closes his eyes, his deep marrow seems to be ice.
Father this sain't is to me, Yet a devil indeed!