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hay4four1 in Poetry & Free Verse

Matthew Scott Harris Born January 13th, 1959

Thank ye immensely devoted sister Shari

for availing Shana Aubrey

an expansive plethora of blessedly

extravagant opportunities wherein her anatomical

fist-sized noggin i.e. grey matter sponging up -

less doable from me

the biological father, who validates

your doting, helping, kickstarting,

et cetera I clamor to see!

--------------------------------------------

Matthew Scott Harris Born January 13th, 1959

I shake my shaggy hirsute hair in utter disbelief,

when the cocked arrow

begat thine conception,

when meal ate mum and octogenarian papa

expected their second offspring and only son,

what now seems to be a stepped-up pace,

where father time didst affix another candle to blow

where the passage of life now measured

in swiftly tailored decades denoting another birthday,

when in the blink of an eye,

I vividly recall crow

wing like a Lil whippersnapper of a boy

leisurely playing monopoly for make-believe dough...

--------------------------------------------

nothing ranks as the greatest gift since being a father

twenty-one years ago then bearing witness to grow

increasing autonomy

of my two precious daughters

whereby each will become master

of their domain, and meet a loving beau

(actually thy eldest dates

a delightful young man from Puerto Re Coe),

whom intuition discerns would be

a near perfect match –

and this papa intuits dough nuts to dollars –

that such an em man hint gentle, humble,

intelligent lad – doth hoe

pa fully become the future groom

of said firstborn, (which outcome I know

wing couched in a couple of poems

sent his way, and no doubt his smarts lo'

and behold revealed the slightly obscure wish),

where love doth most obviously abound mo'

then prevailed between myself and bride o'

mine these last deuce score plus (21+) years,

but now this Poe

whit aspires to recognize the worthiness of she,

whose chose thyself as a lifetime

groom cuz peaceful status quo

avoiding animosity as thyself and spouse

gently row merrily...merrily...merrily

our once quite rickety craft

which oft times in the past needed a tow

off the craggy shoals of constant woe.