rew4er2nail

Matthew Scott Harris Born January 13th, 1959


Thank ye immensely devoted sister Shari
for availing Shana Aubrey
an expansive plethora of blessedly
extravagant opportunities

wherein here anatomical fist-sized noggin i.e. grey

matter sponging up - less doable from me
the biological father, who validates

your doting, helping, kickstarting,

et cetera I clamor to see!

--------------------------------------------

Matthew Scott Harris Born January 13th, 1959

I shake my shaggy hirsute hair

in utter disbelief, when the cocked arrow

begat thine conception,

when meal ate mum and octogenarian papa

begat their second offspring and only son,

what now seems to be a stepped-up pace,

where father time

doth affix another candle to blow

where the passage of life now measured

in swiftly tailored decades

denoting another birthday,

when in the blink of an eye,

I vividly recall crow

wing like a Lil whippersnapper of a boy

leisurely playing monopoly

for make-believe dough...

--------------------------------------------

nothing ranks as the greatest gift

since being a father twenty-one years ago

then bearing witness to grow

increasing autonomy

of my two precious daughters

whereby each will become master

of their domain, and meet a loving beau

(actually thy eldest dates

a delightful young man

from Puerto Re Coe),

whom intuition discerns would be

a near perfect match –

and this papa intuits dough

nuts to dollars – that such an

em man hint gentle, humble,

intelligent lad – doth hoe

pa fully become the future groom

of said firstborn, (which outcome I know

wing couched in a couple of poems

sent his way, and no doubt his smarts lo'

and behold revealed the slightly obscure wish),

where love doth most obviously abound mo'

then prevailed between myself and bride o'

mine these last deuce score

plus (21+) years, but now this Poe

whit aspires to recognize the worthiness of she,

whose chose thyself as a lifetime

groom cuz peaceful status quo

avoiding animosity –

as thyself and spouse gently row

merrily...merrily...merrily

our once quite rickety craft

which oft times in the past needed a tow

off the craggy shoals of constant woe.




 

 

 



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.