If my father were standing here today,
Only sorrow would mar his face.
For all that he held on to in life,
His daughter is a disgrace.
None of his words I remember,
His advice I do not recall.
I know though, when his ramblings began,
We would run away from the hall.
He was a man of assorted pain,
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: daughters,fathers