my father spoke to me of many things
of inner beauty, of a peace on wings
that comes with being humbly blessed
with  kindness, love, and the rest

yes, my father would speak  but I,
I only wanted not wanting to cry
at all the gleam of all the toys
shown off by those silly boys

And I’m sad, so very ashamed to say,
I would but barely hear, then turn away

I speak to my son of many things
about the worth of a soul that sings
of light, of wonders that bring relief
from aimless strife, from pointless grief

but this is not how he cares  to live
craving  more than I can ever can give
wanting those same toys which never last
almost  toys from memories long past

Though mornings, he avoids my probing eyes
At night I can feel I can  sense   his awful cries

But I trust, I pray
one day my son may
speak so to his child
not be  turned away