Four years of study.
A volatile time;
sometime's sublime
but sometimes it's bloody.
Four years of learning.
About people and things;
about dating and 'flings'
and ways of discerning.
Four years of Mother.
A pain-in-the-rear;
but one thing is clear -
greater love hath no other.
Four years of Dad.
While oft disavowed;
he's always so proud
of his upcoming grad.
Even Henry's confessed,
upon thoughtful reflection
and profound retrospection,
that his sister's the best.
Mark J. Schulte. New York City. May 23,2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem