I wrote this back when i thought my father didn't love me becasue i was a girl.

Who did my father love?

Certainly not his lunatic daughter
Who out of inexperience his wife bore.
Whose taste was an incumberment and disease
Which paralleled his?
Surely no.

Who did my father love
not her grasping sister
Who golden dust and fine things
Floated through her dreams
And cared not for humble joys
Unless they were gilded
Surely no.

Who did my father love?
My sister whose thoughts changed
From red to blue
and rose in an instituation he would see stripped?
Maybe

Who did my father love?
The son who produced a son
and was forever reasearching means of proving for him
And was spoken of when asked.
Maybe.

Who did my father love?
Some village boy?
Whose drunken riot reminded him of what he may have been?
Of whom he always spoke, who was as boy as boys will be?
Who lived and died in the same village never to see other things?
Yes.