Father's Grief

Tis true. Our fathers different lay.
Yours ran the city. Mine toiled the clay.
Your sprawling cottage faced the sun.
Our flat? Barely did water run.

Your garden? Worked by a servant's hand.
Ours provided life from the land.
Both fathers voyaged through the city.
Yours, in glory, noted. Mine, hard, a pity.

Your private school? Freshly born.
Mine? Eroded, history worn.
Our fathers sought the same for us.
Yours, rode luxury. Mine, the bus.

Through the years of life we fall.
Now, "we" share this prison wall.
Though our fathers different lay.
They grieve the very same today.

 

DelCano 2002