You cross the boundary on a hot summer's day
the flowers hidden in your bag
and as you traverse the sylvan fields
you build your feelings up

You wait at your father's door
You made the thing yourself-
Red marble, stained
with childish fingerprints

The trees beside him quake
your feelings, unfulfilled
you leave the flowers to scatter
and put your earbuds in

"Oh dear father"
you've come to say
"it's been ten years
since father's day"