Warmth and illumination seep through the curtains,
The morning song of the rooster, echoes through the room
Like Pavarotti hitting that note in the opera house.
Awoke with thoughts of brown eyes,
One thing I am glad he got from me. I remember
He used to call me Alfred, now he says
" Dad, why don't you call me son? "
His first day of school, me the only father
In a room full mothers, the black sheep of this family.
He asks, "How do I make friends" my reply
"Just be your self "results in that satisfying embrace of
Thank you dad.
With a concerned look, he asks, "republican, democrat
Catholic or Christian? " With the same look, I tell him
"Gangs are bad."
I see the uncertainty of childhood,
The happiness of innocence,
And, he needs a hug.
What a beautiful little poem well expressed with love. Keep writing my friend and thank you for sharing it. David
Wonderful. Vivid and evocative... I simply love this poem. ~Ray
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the way you write about your son. He must mean a lot to you. I love the poem, it's very warming. ♥ Mandy