Too Brief, the Flame
There lies my heart,
Quite ragged, torn -
My father passed
This brumal morn ...
How ruthless came
This face of death,
Warm on my cheek,
His last, soft breath ...
Yet blessed, was I,
Thru grand design,
To walk him home,
His hand ... in mine ...
Oh treasure, sweet,
The folks you love -
Too brief the flame,
Burns life, thereof.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Strand Select 8, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
* This was read at Dad's service on December 10, 2019, and published in the local paper. He and I were never close, and he had never held my hand until the photo above, (though he was unconscious and never again awake). It is the last picture taken of him. Despite our distance, I was honored to be the one with him when he passed. *
( I love you, Dad ... I'll never know a better man, in every sense of the word ).
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