Dear father,
You stay. Gone, you stay. Silent and absent, you stay. Deaf and staring, you stay.
Unexpressive, unsentimental, rude in the arts, practical, bureacrat, provider, burnt out, you stay.
So it is with me and my children. Probably I did my work already, I stay.
Father I remain.
Their father, myself.
Themselves, my self.
As now, my father, gone, is some mine, me.
