It has been fifteen short yearsSince you became a father.It means so much that you would even botherTo get past the many troubles and fears.
Fifteen years on earth is not a long time,But I've had thoughts of cutting my stay short.For many already, suicide has become a resort.Though, because of you-on certain occasions, life seems sublime.
You dried the tears you could,Caused quite a few on the wayTo getting me through many a typical-teen day.Though, after being harsh, you'd always make good.
"I love you"s reatched my ears most every day.You told me each chance you got,"You're worth everything to me. The other stuff can rot."I thank you for telling me that cliché.