his lips, they knew just one other's, spry,
who kept his beard and hair so neatly groomed
and so young my father chose to die -
to leave his life in ringed hands -
a rebel that Christ cannot defy
he measures not his life in wedding bands:
instead he stopped his counting when he was young
and counted only soft commands
that fell from my mother's swift tongue,
my father drank them in with zeal
and let the inhalations fill his lungs
and no remorse my father feels
for bearing three with she to whom he's sealed
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