“The heart of a father is the masterpiece of nature.” ― Abbé Prévost

There are lines on his face
They speak of tales
Oh! The stories they told
Of the times gone by;
How he’s aged
Time has passed
Yet, he looks the same
That face never changes
Those wrinkles seem irrelevant
He never changes!
Maybe I’m the only one.
Years have gone
He sings the same songs
He tells the same story
He never changes.
The lines on his face
Bear no fret
They tell tales of history
Of times and how they used to be;
And here I stand
Captured them in a lens
Of swirls and lines
Of my father
And how he is now
From what he was then.

My father, my friend.

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