There was a wound near the ear 

That never healed. Each evening

I would change the dressing

The blood never stopped its flow. 

He would not wince, even

As I applied disinfectant trying 

To be as gentle as possible, 

As softly and as far as I could go. 

His eyes glistened with pain and tears 

That never fell. And I note with pride

That this is my father, 

And fighting still. 

Clouds billow like an open wound

In the changing times. Each evening

I watch the skies over the house

Sometimes azure, sometimes grey. 

No one talks about the bleeding lines

That no one can see, but me

That young girl swallowing tears

While keeping vigil each day. 

When eyes glisten with pain and tears 

Threaten to fall. I call out with pride

That I am his daughter

And fighting still.