He was tall and thin almost cadaver like
Face craggy, half shaven with coldness in his eyes
Prone to fits of temper and violence
His bad humour fitted him tightly squeezing
An ever-present sneer onto his lean face
Not all bad, he was kind to his big black dog
But he was cursed with mood swings
That changed like the weather
Afflicted with mental period pains
One minute joking and laughing
The next lashing out at whoever was in range
Couldn’t understand where all this rage came from
What fuelled these toxic dark moods?
Until I met his father sitting by the fire
A sullen, scowling, mean faced figure
With hardly a word muttered
He radiated his misery
His unhappiness filled the room
And I saw the truth
The apple never falls far from the tree.
Good on you!
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