glomp

In my gypsy life,
I thought never hear,
Throughout the cold strife,
And visceral fear

Bladed pen and page,
blooded tear hath shed,
despite the old age,
and the torment fed

that a type of kind,
love dear as water,
in the fray remind,
gift of my daughter

I thought never hear,
As I sullen lad,
Words I hold as dear,
As “I love you dad.”