It Just Nullifies Him On His Way… Poem by Mark Heathcote

Discharged from his mother's loins 
The man who sleeps, who is born
With sleet in his two opal eyes 
He must give up his childish toys.

Must keep smiling through the pain.
Run his fingers through the oat fields
And feel the wind's dewy breaths—
Kiss on his retiring lips, full of bane.

He must linger alone until the calendar 
Turns a page a day, until you stare
Run into his arms, glad that you're home.
Oh, mother of the next man, lacklustre.

With a taste of lost ill-begotten love 
Burning on his lips, two tearful eyes
Waving him away… her son on his way 
Son, soon you'll be a man someday.

Son, you'll be a man someday.
Her smiles, it just nullifies him on his way…
Her smiles, it just nullifies him on his way…
Her smiles, it just nullifies him on his way…