My Special One Poem by meitha soekotjo

He sometimes remains me of my father.
I mean a father figure, since I have short memory of my father.
Well, he is more like my grandfather.
A figure of someone who I saw as a father.

Like, he looks around for finding me seriously.
Intentionally.
Curiously.
Until he finds my look or again looking around, continuously

I would be worried for knowing how serious,
Curious,
with ingenious
Or his effort will be continues.

So, I will run to him
Stopping him
Cuddling him
And asking his apology by kissing him