I cross my arms like him.
When I sit, I raise them.
Above my head, they intertwine.
My fingers. And I say, “That’s fine.”
Every youth’s broken promise,
“I’ll never be like my parents.”
When you notice one day,
That’s something dad would say.
Some make the transition young,
Some deny the family tongue
Until they are old and gray
And their own children say,
“I’ll never be like my parents.”
Primitive Poetry 
So deep and meaningful 💗
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Thank you!
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Heh. I said it. And now look at who’s the dad and saying the same things. *shakes head*
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That’s how it goes!
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Yep, that’s what I said about my father.
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Same, as you can see by the poem.
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You are so right. Have you ever listened to Harry Chapin’s “Cats in the Cradle”?
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Yes, many a time!
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Hugs so we’ll written
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