The youngest one is the tip.
My own son is half of my blood.
His child has only one fourth of mine.
Yet I love it more than
I loved my son as a child.
The reason is not far to seek.
I am desperate for company.
I want a constant companion.
Others are busy to neglect us both.
The grandchild is my apical meristem,
That I want to tend to preserve my root.
25.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!