Father's Ashen Letter
Died a stillborn past long agoThis spirit of self lingers on
Unable to let grasp of life go
For their tiny steps I fathom
Paper pieces of life around
Words written all scattered
Of love and of care abound
Songs for a world unbattered
These things unable to express
Mornings that do not dawn a sun
Man ought to emotions suppress
Living inside the barrel of a gun
Pushed aside by the long road
Drowned under the anxious yoke
Unshaven worn out face an ode
Ashes under childhood home oak
Words scribbled by a fireplace
Happier days, whispered the wind
Ink smokes as words set ablaze
For my dearest own kin and kind
(Happy birthday, whispers wind
My dear, dear own kin and kind)
