So when you, my father, come next to pass us by, ask again if I would rather find you standing strong, as once you did to my childish eye, with a voice that made me tremble in both love and fear of failing you. Or find now forgiveness in your frailty, your hard lines softened by confusion, the indignity of dependence offered as absolution for your judgement of my different song. In this there is no choosing. The exercise of love exorcises all but the fear of losing love. Ask again and you will find me answerless, unable to explain the journey from your public wrath to your private pain.