Most quizzingly
I enquired my daughters:
Who mended my torn half-pant,
The stitch of which was worn out from that place
Keeping mum, the seconds quipped lovingly:
The Grandfather did it so!
She knew the bonding through her witty remark
as she drew a parallel between us two
An octogenarian my father is
Weak of eyes and trembling hands
The needle and the tread
have so much common in them
The one pry and the other pave the mend
By the time I soaked the murmur of my heart
A warm drop mapped my cheeks
Pondering the beat
I withdrew all reasons from my crawling heart
You are more that any definition to me
You are the murmur of my heart;
My Father!
No comments:
Post a Comment