I turned to
papa
who sits in
the dark corner in our house
Swallowed
within the puffy couch,
reading his
books, old and new
With his
glasses, askew
I turned to
papa
Who sits in
the dark corner in our house
Drowning he
is, sunken he is, paused
Like a submarine who delves in the abyss
No one will interrupt the voyage of his
I turned to papa
Who sits in the dark corner of our house.
I turned to papa
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