Father alone will know all about it,
Pain that will trade for the joys up there.
Further along, we won't mind a bit,
Shedding old wounds too deep to forget,
Even if born of hate or warfare,
Even if Father alone knows about it.
Old backs still give. Old knees still quit,
Waiting for upgrades to old earthenware.
Further along, we won't mind a bit.
We'll wander in wonders, with banana splits
As, under the bridge, flows the last care
Where Father alone will know all about it.
Hardships enlargen, grow big hearts with grit,
Vessels that may hold the more heavenfare.
Further along, we won't mind a bit.
It is well worth it. The pieces will all fit,
Sometimes no friend can explain the nightmare.
Father alone will know all about it.
Further along, we won't mind a bit.
Penjammin grew up in a labyrinthine cavern. Later he ran with the wolves and lived every moment marinated in the sweet scent of his game, until pirates landed and… (see “About”). Get his eletter at penjams.com/subscribe.