I don't know
So much about him
Why he arranged his books that way
What all of his little expressions meant
Like the way he tilted his head
I don't know why he fought me
About every little thing
What his favorite food was
Though I suppose that Alfred must know
Mustn't he?
But what is he doesn't?
What if Alfred can't tell me
All of those things that I missed
Or forgot
Or wasn't paying attention to
How could I have not paid attention
To how restless he was growing
How impetuous
How wild
How could I not have stopped him sooner
Before it was too late
And asked him all of these questions
That keep running through my mind
What was his favorite color?
God why can't I remember?
I want so badly to know
What he thought of being Robin
Whether or not he felt inferior to Dick
Though he shouldn't
They were so different
How could I have compared them?
And yet...
I don't know nearly as much about him
As I know about Dick
But there was so much more time with Dick
Just keep making excuses Bruce
And there isn't anymore with Jason.
No more time to ask him
How he felt about his mother
And what he wanted from life
And all those things a father should know
About his son