I heard, his will, read out, with fear
To reap, the yield, of my, father’s wrath
Twopenny, cottage, in a patch, austere
Was, our feud’s, final, afermath!
A wasteland, with, million cacti
Scarred, my soul, like a, satire
No nightingale, but a, stoic magpie
Spurred ire, of, shortchanged heir!
No zephyr, passed by, forget squall
Yet moon, showered, its mystic tears
When, spring did come, after the fall
It blessed, my faith, with, prickly pears!
No more, no less, was this, last largess
Of a father, down my, thoughts’ boulevard
An errant son, adjures, “God bless
Who Bequeathed, Me, This, Cactus Yard”!
© 2022 Vikas Chandra