Past Curfew

In the pall of those years now fully spent
Both primitive blessing and profane curse
Where once eager to track that imbrued scent
Now we two that earliest track transverse

Unbitten thus our scion grew older
And to her the lunule grace left untouched
Until that other blooding might claim her
To a sanguine sybariticism clutch

When time proved out the lupine strain bred true
And secured by blood Endymion’s pardon
When from our door she and her date withdrew
Our unease grew as the sunlight softened

Alone, my daughter returned past curfew
“Um Dad, you don’t mind if I borrow the shovel, do you?”

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