What is this feeling,
This tickle, overwhelming?
Never had he felt so delighted,
Nor had he been so shortsighted.
Why is this trouncing,
This tickle, aching?
He could feel the ghost of his past,
Springing up on him at last.
For decades he had not felt
The terrible, the lovely welt.
I have waited enough, I shall now say:
I love you boy, I will obey.