Delusions Poem by robert dickerson

Delusions, delusions, come running to me now
whey-faced, whimpering, simpering, blind-
phthistic, rachitic, small and spavined,
how do I love you? You shall see how.
You are my children-you are my kind-
rightful offspring of my mind:
still you cover me like the dame in the shoe-
buttons to feed and mouths to sew;
wore you and tore-I watched, you grew-
Where should I hither? What shall I do?
without your distractions, then, my dears?
What should I have done, then, all these years?
When once you are grown and must fend on your own-
deafening silence-who shall I phone?