My father is dead. <br />I who am look at him <br />who is not, as once he <br />went looking for me <br />in the woman who was. <br /> <br />There are pictures <br />of the two of them, no <br />need of a third, hand <br />in hand, hearts willing <br />to be one but not three. <br /> <br />What does it mean <br />life? I am here I am <br />there. Look! Suddenly <br />the young tool in their hands <br />for hurting one another. <br /> <br />And the camera says: <br />Smile; there is no wound <br />time gives that is not bandaged <br />by time. And so they do the <br />three of them at me who weep. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Andrew Mayers<br /><br />Ronald Stuart Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/album/
