My Father

(written Thursday, 9:15pm, May 26, 1966)

My father was a poor man
But I said to him one day
"What have you saved to give your son
Before he goes away?"

His forehead, heightened in surprise,
Turned to a tinkle in his eyes.
"You ask me what I have to give?
All there is to give!", he said.
"Eighty joyous years to live
And all I ever had:
Two eyes to see what there is to see,
Two legs to take you there,
Two ears to hear what there is to hear,
And a mounth to drink and swear,
Two hands, five burning fingrs each,
To feel the smooth and smooth the harsh
A lust to touch and love and teach
And sense enough to wash."

Well, I walked and saw and heard and held
And loved and swore and drank
And now I have my son to teach and, Hell!,
I've him to thank.

- Sitaram