A child is a precisious gift of delight and wonder.
The splendor in an innocent face creates an insticnt to protect from plunder.
The thing that I regret the most,
the thing that haunts me like a ghost.
The one who should hold them most dear,
he is the plunderer here.
To leave the bright expectent faces,
to wonder where Dad is, what places?
Not at my soccer game nor hockey,
but living somewhere without us, how cocky!
Adandonment is the word I use,
to this word he would distinctly refuse,
to take any responsiblity for the pain created.
Years from now he will be hated.
The innocence I enjoy everyday,
the love so pure he had to run away.