[Son, or Who You Are]

Son, or who you are, knocking

With your word at the late door

What have you come back to say?

And hush and don’t let your clever

Word knock too loud. You’ll wake

More than a poetry boy can chew.

With your forefinger fish the key

Up from my side of the door

And turn the old lock easily

And do not wake your mother, though

It is not likely the way time

Whispers and waves across us all.