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Sunday, June 19, 2011

#170 Thinks of His Father


The rain
Washes away my tears
As I stand next to my father’s grave
It’s a granite bench
With his name on it
Meant for contemplation and remembering
But it’s raining
And the puddles on the bench
Aren’t conducive to sitting
So I stand
And think of what he would have done
In all those many situations
I’ve encountered
In the days since he was gone

I can’t really know what he’d think
Because I wasn’t ever sure of what he thought
I’ve learned more about him since he died
Than I ever knew of him when I could have talked to him
And that saddens me
He was taken too soon
Too soon for me to come back around
To that same level of admiration I had for him
Back when I was a child
That went away when I was a teen
And only started to come back
A few years before he died

What fools we are
Not to see what is before us
Our whole lives

All I can do now
Is stand here before his little bench
My tears mixing with the rain