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A Son Of His
by Pat Paulk

He grew old before I was ready
though it happened fairly late in life.

His vision sees only shadows now
and his memories are without date.

Stories that I used to relish hearing
get lost from start to finish.

His breath is no longer free
itís inhaled from a tube and invoiced monthly.

Legs that walked years of wooded land
only bend to fit the chair he rides.

But Iím proud to be a son of his
and will be Ďtil the day I die

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