My Father’s Son

If ever I had time to tell
the passing of a day,
A genie grant me such a spell,
of what things might I say?

Of lizard tongues and butterflies,
the rustling of leaves;
Of images in cloudy skies,
and what one there perceives;
Of speeding cars and traffic jams,
and all the dirty air;
Aluminum recycled cans;
the passing county fair?

Of all these things I might bespeak
before my time were through.
But most of all my pitch would peak
when I bespoke of you!