It’s ashame how one can have utter glory in the expense of others and envious seconds,

Feelings soar high while melody drops low,

We all float in misty skies.

​

One may realize the depths of ones’ sorrow

for thee shall follow,

And it can be hollow.

​

Swim into the ocean of glee,

where we could be,

in the heavens of free.

​

Don’t you cry (my) child,

You will soon be me.

Just like the birds and the bees,

It’s the cycle of We.

​

And so I rest my eyes,

In thy tearful skies,

May you feel like a child,

where all is a surprise.

​

Rest my child,

you will soon be wise.

Know that your world shall be,

as happy as can be.

​

~ Coincidentally written on my Father’s 68th Birthday

on January 29, 2020