The Bastard Child
Where is my father?Asked the child one day,As he stared at his motherWith that look on his face.He’s asked that questionA dozen times,But what could she tell him,Without telling a lie?She could say that he’s dead,But he probably isn’t,She could say that he leftAnd she really does miss him.Just how can she explain,He was just a man in a bar,An innocent kissThat went too far.She was youngAnd her emotions were wild,And she just wasn’t preparedFor a bastard child.1999, Written September 10th, 2001 © on Sep 10 2001 05:25 AM PST, Marvyn B Candler 11 • 0 • 9
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"Where is my father?Asked the child one day,As he stared at his motherWith that look on his face.He’s asked that questionA dozen times,But what could she tell him,Without telling a lie?She could say that he’s dead,But he probably isn’t,She could say that he leftAnd she really does miss him.Just how can she explain,He was just a man in a bar,An innocent kissThat went too far.She was youngAnd her emotions were wild,And she just wasn’t preparedFor a bastard child.1999, ..."