FARM HOUSE
Slowly my hands ran through the stubble of the fields.
It felt nice but couldn't be compared to the comfort of his.
Oh how I laughed at his freckles and made passage with the wrinkles of his face.
He had always liked it but would assure me we wouldn't plough no more for he knew I hated the farm.
I preferred the lyrics of the city to the cries of birds.
But if I knew, I would have forced his weak hands through the field.
If I knew, I would have fed the birds grains I threw.
But Papa I would weep no more
For the farm is such a good home
Your cracked voice I won't forget
A melody, I would sing with your beloved sparrow.
It felt nice but couldn't be compared to the comfort of his.
Oh how I laughed at his freckles and made passage with the wrinkles of his face.
He had always liked it but would assure me we wouldn't plough no more for he knew I hated the farm.
I preferred the lyrics of the city to the cries of birds.
But if I knew, I would have forced his weak hands through the field.
If I knew, I would have fed the birds grains I threw.
But Papa I would weep no more
For the farm is such a good home
Your cracked voice I won't forget
A melody, I would sing with your beloved sparrow.