Thursday, April 26, 2012
My dad was an absentee father,
Sadder yet, because he was home...
I dreamed of catching tossed baseballs,
While ignored in my room and alone.
I figured out what he earned per day,
Saving up for a piece of his time...
In hopes that I could pay him
To make just one hour all mine.
I decided to not waste the money,
On a man too blinded to see.
The son who longed to know him,
Spent it all, instead, to be free.
Admittedly, the man was a genius
A prophet ahead of 'his time'...
Yet some scholars should not have children;
It was his loss for not sharing mine.