| Mouths to feed won’t sleep till he arrives,
|
| so he brings his work home.
|
| Late nights waste away plotting a plan.
|
| Tracing the steps he needs to take
|
| till he says,
|
| «My job is done.
|
| You’re old enough, it’s time to leave
|
| this home and go on your own.
|
| I know it’s hard, but it’s not my problem anymore.
|
| Not anymore.»
|
| Eyes closed children rest unaware,
|
| so he keeps their light dim.
|
| Angels hold their tongues up above
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| with a scowl shaking their fists
|
| when he says…
|
| «We had our run,
|
| now you’re old enough to run down your track,
|
| so don’t look back. |
| I know it’s hard but it’s not
|
| my problem anymore. |
| Not anymore.» |