Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #157
My Father's Mustache
by Belinda Roddie
My father's mustache drooped over his lip,
a shaggy mop of sadness covering
his quiv'ring mouth. Silent, he dared not slip
a word of sorrow to us, lest he bring
a shade of worry across the faces
of his children. However, I knew that
his days within his study, hardly dressed,
were indicative of an inner spat
between his mind and his heart. Such a mood
was not contagious to me, but it did
spur me to spend time with him. Though he'd brood,
I'd hold his hand and cope with it. I hid
all my pains from him - it was the most I
could do for my father, who'd never cry.
by Belinda Roddie
My father's mustache drooped over his lip,
a shaggy mop of sadness covering
his quiv'ring mouth. Silent, he dared not slip
a word of sorrow to us, lest he bring
a shade of worry across the faces
of his children. However, I knew that
his days within his study, hardly dressed,
were indicative of an inner spat
between his mind and his heart. Such a mood
was not contagious to me, but it did
spur me to spend time with him. Though he'd brood,
I'd hold his hand and cope with it. I hid
all my pains from him - it was the most I
could do for my father, who'd never cry.
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