Dear Papa
by Harlene Mayordomo
.
You create the reason of sinful face
Making me at the center of dismay,
Does your rod judge me not? Or make me this?
So, when I cry not a twig will quiver
That only ravens await my return;
Whose idea leaves with lofty errors?
That let this birth unaccountably age,
Where does remedy lies at your will’s consent?
But cursing what these meddling thoughts could hope,
Would let an ice breathe its own fate and fade,
And these wordless hymns break posterity
For in my loving memory draws life,
And these eyes sob and shut beautifully
That let this end shares with love and vain.
