Winter 1985 • Vol. VII No. 1 Poetry |

My Daughter and I

I am old enough to die of old age. Prepared for lonely death on the road, I want to go on a wandering journey. When I am deep in such thought, A phone call comes from my married daughter, "Daddy, don't write ridiculous poems. I feel really embarrassed. Tell me anytime when you need money. Are you listening, Daddy? On your seventieth birthday I will buy a new suit for you."   Dear, dear! What a touching creature! The daughter moves her parents to tears.Holding the receiver to my ear, Feeling hot tears welling in my heart, I say, "Don't worry about me. I have money, I have clothes." Because of such caring, Unless I become senile I never can escape my family. I never can go on a wandering journey.

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