Hokahe, sam chon

My uncle died yesterday He was an octogenarian His stroke made him slur To me, he is ever youthful Riding a nicotine stained Mustang Breaking free from his bridle Breaking free from his bride Leaving his two sons and wife Long time since he whittled for me A while since he carved driftwood Since, he enticed a second mare A girl to ride shotgun when broken I wrote to not cry his passing Though I never really knew him I cried for the end of a generation Now old, I inherit his vacant seat Someday my son will cry for me My mother says all things die Even soju spilled evaporates When the bottle tips I’ll pass away Feel myself burbling away Few will mourn a falling leaf Few see Mustangs falling off a cliff Even fewer still will see their art In his imperfections I see myself Do his estranged sons grieve? When he is buried in Forest Lawn When laid to rest by his parents I wonder why I cry for an old man Was it for him or myself behind? Perhaps it is to honor any life Ahead will be my parent’s rest Behind me my son’s mourning Find peace in a falling leaf Winter is coming for us We have only four seasons Ride that broken-down Mustang Never let go of the reins Watch him canter ahead I'll be joining him bareback Help me to not feel jealous Today is a good day to die Uncle