His frailty is his disguise. He is
A Good Man nothing more nothing less.
Had he not been my Father, I’d have known
him, father of the muses. They know the
silken mystery of his love. He walks
away innocently. No blood on his
hands, no broken hearts, no one abandoned.
He gave us more than Life itself which was
not his undertaking—She took that from him Fiercely—he is
Something common by necessity, noble in accessory.
He's never lost his calm. Speed, speed alone
is to be feared. Slow down for your sake. Hear
the songs I write to my love, your mother.
Beautiful and wise, she's kept us Alive.
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