My father’s king of the Land of Forget
and can never remember a thing,
from his crown to his robe to his scepter or ring
my dadly king cannot ever bring
himself to get up and away at the start of each day
because of what’s slipped from his mind.
Regardless of all that he does to remind
himself of a long list of things,
he continues to rue and regret all the things that he let
disappear in the Land of Forget.
Tho’ he’s tied colorful strings
round his fingers and toes
and sticks stickies upon his large nose,
my father — the king of the Land of Forget
forgets wherever he goes.
Of course the very worst times of the year
which he fears as the worst to remember —
those three little months he forgets more than once:
September, November, December.
But he’s ever a part of my singular heart
and I’ll love him — no matter what goes
though his memory is short, he will always hold court
as the king of the Land of Forget —
and this he will evermore know.