Sunday, January 8, 2017

Untitled Iambic pentameter

Dusting through the tumbled colours of fall My father discusses my life with me. "Life's cycles make each leaf fall from the tree, Just as your dreams will make you leave us all."

He looks, smiles at me, says "When you were small, This day I thought my eyes would never see. I've wondered about who you would be, What choices you'd make, weather you'd be tall."

He looks up, sees no limit to the night, And then admires my sparkling eyes. His, almost overflowing, his hand dries.


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