What's true, what's not,
This is my story.
...Then he said,
He was just leaving.
May be I should be forgiving,
May be I should talk my mother,
May be he is a bad father.
I smiled:
I have my son,
I gave my King.
(After lovely conversation with the ... for about an hour,
It was very clear
To me, him and the neighbour's dog
That everything was my fault.
Fine, I said.
Future grandparents pointed fingers in opposite directions;
And my mother moved in for almost a year with me).
People asked me why I wear the same clothes,
Where are my gold rings,
I smiled:
I have my son,
I have my King.
Only one time,
When I was standing near last fire line,
Someone wiped my tears softly and smiled:
You have your son,
You have your King.
