Poetry

Moving Out

At last my son has moved out of home.
I'd been waiting for this day for years.
I knew it'd be hard, but not this hard.

He's moving to the dead centre of town.
Quite a nice spot, just accross from old Uncle Herb,
Always good to have family around.

The landlord's quite nice, keeps the garden in shape,
and we'll come to visit him sometimes,
but the house will be quiet without him.

So we've got our freedom back,
to live as we please.
I'd be really happy now,
if only my son wasnt dead.

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