Father’s rhyme 1


Men do grow old and retire; But rarely on the same day.

My old man loved death. He had seen it all,

he thought He had seen the changes in times He was born during the war so he thought he had seen human pain and it’s strange efforts to change.

Not until he met my mother in Kenya.

I am not sure about how their love came to place

but a year didn’t go by and he and her faced the priest and were announcing their wedding vows out loud for the public.

He thought he would be happy or maybe they were happy! I cannot tell.

But that isn’t what I saw in his eyes nor did I hear sweet nothings.

They had their moments, I suppose.

But later on I could see his interest diminishing.

And my fears were confirmed, he hated my mother.

He hated her voice, her silence, the sound that came when she was eating and later on her presence.

I cannot say I blame him. I saw him create excuses about going to work, I saw him over working himself so that he could take his mind off of things.

And it grew, the hate spread and eventually he couldn’t keep the pain and the hurt in.

He eventually found someone new, and I still did not blame him. I wanted him to be happy. But later on his lungs and later on the rest of his organs gave up.


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