Сириус

My son

You’re right – he’s not my son.
He’s more than son can be,
The child of those who’d gone,
But mean so much to me.

Her eyes upon his face
Bring pain and yet – relief,
Throughout the blackest days
He is my will to live.

He is the hope I’ve lost,
He is the vow I’ve made,
He’s joy – the sacred cost
For friendship to be paid.

You’re wrong – he is my son.
And that’s in my defense –
How shall I call the one
Who fills my world with sense?