Remington

 

My SUN…

 

All senses doth you have, from God, to guide you through a CRISIS!

Organs, both great and small, do lend to those enlightened

 

But, even if they do lose their faculties, compensation will be made and your glory shall stay delighted

 

Lift blue glass eyes to cloud and still them with the casting of your gaze

Your flickering orbs dancing to and fro, containing the fathoms of sheols deepest fissures

 

Your brawn, the King of the Jungle, the greatest lion, even if the runt…

And runt, oh 'tis not thee… you stole all the brain and bone, the sinew and the muscle

In time, your gifts less shrouded

 

No need to be your father

All put out, ignored, decrepit, all boring, and crusty

That hoary headed spider

 

Now, if your ears cease to resound

Thank God for peace and quiet

Be careful what you feed through those, to keep a healthy diet

Your nose stopped up?

Oh, what a pity

No, I say protected from the foul stench of excrement and unwashed taint!

BOOOOY! Keep clean and groomed and showered

My son a blood hound and always on the hunt

 

With knowing, bend and break a will

'Twill keep them with your power stifled

A little attitude, these days, just fine to force when slighted

 

And always gaurd your heart

Stay that field from growing thorns and keep the garden from the weavels

Selected seed for finest crop ensures a sprouting lot… now bounty is your harvest

 

Now, if the weasels slip on through, or rabbits through the lettuce chew

You will need to mend the fence

A smile, nod, and off to next, most times the best defense

Or, scarecrow must you erect, to keep the pesky mouth flappers aloft

Take the time to tend your garden and the yields will keep you through the winter months

Nourishment when times barren

 

No need to be just like your father…

Growing old, alone, unhitched, despised, a blubbering, wiseneand farting fool

 

Oh, and some advice

 

So keenly as you check

A bodacious stride your bet

And let a scowl be your smile to those with adverse step

 

Oh, do leave them all riled up

 

Mal Fortunas to those who dare bend a hair of My GOOD FORTUNE

 

No need to be your father…

 

That loud mouthed, honking, hobbling, goose-necked schism

 

Staying old, alone, no bitch, unwise, a squeaking but dull and rusted old tool

 

With love

 

For 7 on the 8

 

Your Father

 

P.S.

 

While they lie…

 

I bring them EYE FOR AN EYE

 

… because they wouldn't stop

 

 

DEATH FOR ALL THOSE INBETWEEN

 

NO MERCY!