I was a father to her life,
And even a mother to her strife,
I acted my part,
So that she’ll reside
Among fertile valleys and sunlit glades.
I was in the mood to touch,
Where spots could be soothed,
Where wounds could be mended,
Though, eyes were only pulled closed.
Among death, and among sadness,
I was the most fertile, to send tears upon my feet,
All the life we barely know,
From wasted soil.
And, as she said to me,
“There are greater joys,
Than this heartfelt toil.”
I blew kisses in her direction, for her to bury them.
I was but a child, before her,
A little thing to be sought after,
And turned into the dust we always know,
Is the end of a long and painful road.