Poured out and stowed from teenage years,
these pent-up, grief-filled tortured tears.
They\'re shed for you, most noble friend.
Dear father, these poor lines I\'ve penned
with Ink, I\'ve spilt for life you\'ve lost,
by fate, so cruel, cut short, star-crossed.
You gave me life, then lost your own.
Launched out for land, unseen, unknown.
Moved on like mist across the lake,
dissolved like dew at dawn\'s daybreak.
Do you still live, my parent true?
Does heaven\'s face shine down on you?
Your son survives on slender hopes.
In darkest days, for light he gropes.
He craves one piddling, Christian crumb:
to meet you in the life to come!