I journey from mine to hers.
From love however stifling,
To where love loose yet caring occurs
And reality is a matter trifling.
Her sire welcomes with open arms,
And I feel acceptance warm.
He does not raise no great alarms,
But looks at us two quite forlorn.
Her mother passed when she was nine
And he lost his truest love.
But I've never shown her a drop malign
And his approval I gain thereof.
There is a deep sadness i do see
In his eyes, it is most weighty.