My father is not in sight once again.
That's not a surprise once fall begins. The air begins to cool, and the sports begin their rituals.
But in the stands I see not the father that which is mine; for he is elsewhere, in his own state of mind.
The ground starts to freeze, and it's time for the snow and lights; where I once again do not see a face.
A face I've almost forgotten is no where in sight.
The birds begin to chrip, and the sun shines so bright.
I don't waste my time looking, searching for that familiar face I've long forgotten.
When at last he's there, I care the least.