Making heavy work of the patch of blackberry beneath the pear tree

We dig up hooked and tangled roots

Which throw out new invasive shoots

(Dad's getting old, to tell the truth)

His stories sure to draw a hoot

From me, whether heard before or not

We dig up hooked and tangled roots

His own dad, in his beardless youth,

Brought home from war a shrapnel wound

(He's getting old, to tell the truth)

Blood soaking into alpine ground

Is soil, that birthed a bitter fruit

We dig up hooked and tangled roots

My gentle idol's other suit

From diamond heart to black-raged mood

(He's getting old, to tell the truth)

When my sons are acting out

I tourniquet the need to shout

I'm getting old, to tell the truth

We dig up hooked and tangled roots