Autumn stream

Whereupon
You must tell them
‘Here stands my other son’

He loved you and
he held you dear
As Hercules held Uni dear
And nursed from her breast

And you, my dear
Who never would trouble herself
As the morning dawn
Is too cold and clear

You complain your fingers
Grow numb in the
late autumn stream

But I tell you,
What matters is that
As he sits
His back to you
Spine rigid
Heart broken

Tell him that
The stream never did matter
And that he is,
your other son

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