As I perceive <br />I am dying now and know <br />I will not speak again, will not <br />survive the earth, be summoned <br />out of it again, not <br />a flower yet, a spine only, raw dirt <br />catching my ribs, I call you, <br />father and master: all around, <br />my companions are failing, thinking <br />you do not see. How <br />can they know you see <br />unless you save us? <br />In the summer twilight, are you <br />close enough to hear <br />your child's terror? Or <br />are you not my father, <br />you who raised me?<br /><br />Louise Gluck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gold-lily/
