The days near
Towards my long fear,
Finally it becomes clear

After all these years; It’s true
Dad’s eyes are no more blue
He’s no more like glue

For I am his yam
He planted my stem
So he could help where I am

But I’m stunt
All I do is grunt
Of everything I want

Never growing,
Though my veins are racing
And time is running

The farmer will come
To witness his blooming sugar plum
So he can harvest what has become

Then soon,
The day of my doom
Will come to bloom

But Dad’s eyes are no more blue