William Morris Meredith Jr.
What it must be like to be an angel
or a squirrel, we can imagine sooner.
The last time we go to bed good,
they are there, lying about darkness.
They dandle us once too often,
these friends who become our enemies.
Suddenly one day, their juniors
are as old as we yearn to be.
They get wrinkles where it is better
smooth, odd coughs, and smells.
It is grotesque how they go on
loving us, we go on loving them
The effrontery, barely imaginable,
of having caused us.And of how.
Their lives: surely
we can do better than that.
This goes on for a long time.Everything
they do is wrong, and the worst thing,
they all do it, is to die,
taking with them the last explanation,
how we came out of the wet sea
or wherever they got us from,
taking the last link
of that chain with them.
Father, mother, we cry, wrinkling,
to our uncomprehending children and grandchildren.
William Morris Meredith Jr.'s Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Parents by William Morris Meredith Jr. )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- O Fanantic, I Can Se It, Bijay Kant Dubey
- O Man, Where Will You Go With Your Funda.., Bijay Kant Dubey
- Gently Stirs The Breeze, Rondeau, Captain Cur
- She, Maya Hanson (mye3 poet)
- Back To The Beginning, Maya Hanson (mye3 poet)
- Honour Killing, What Will You Get Killin.., Bijay Kant Dubey
- The bark, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- This Is India, Here A Village Fool Can A.., Bijay Kant Dubey
- All The Time The Talk About Fanaticism &.., Bijay Kant Dubey
- Helpless, Robert Melliard