Heredity

More than a fleshly immortality
   Is mine. Though I myself return again
   To dust, my qualities of heart and brain,
Of soul and spirit, shall not cease to be.
I view them growing, day by day, in thee,
   My first-begotten son; I trace them plain
   In you, my daughters; and I count it gain
Myself renewed and multiplied to see.

But sadness mingles with my selfish joy,
   At thought of what you may be called to bear.
Oh, passionate maid! Oh, glad, impulsive boy!
   Your father's sad experience you must share --
Self-torture, the unfeeling world's annoy,
   Gross pleasure, fierce exultance, grim despair!

by John Liddell Kelly

Comments (1)

A beautifully crafted iambic pentameter shapes this bitter/sweet poem about the turning wheel of life. The reader feels the fierce love in your voice. Your final line is superb. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥