this poem really only makes sense if you know the exact nature of everything that's gone on the last couple of months, up until about yesterday.

the end has come to me
as it comes to us all.
in the dead of the night,
softly, quickly, painfully.

as i shuffled this coil,
i struggled not,
for my body was spent
after three months of toil.

i worked for her heart
and, finally (at last!),
things were as good
as they were at the start.

yet i needn't have bothered;
for all that matters in the end
are the pointless quarrels
between sons and their fathers.