A patronising patriarch repatriates his refugee pariah seed
His tear duct tide shows pure emotion, but offers neap at best
His gravity of consciousness allows no more, no less
Unconscious torrents ebb and flow in whole king tide proportions
He's glad his seed won't learn the truth
The plan for his abortion
A half hug on the birth of Christ
A card upon his own
His little seed feels like a weed
Completely all alone
