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.