My Son My Friend
Mourn not my Son... your Father's dead
And there's nothing to be done.
Do not mount the battlements in my defense
As the race was fairly won.
The kitchen table has not been set...
My chair lies stark and bare.
No one leans against the window sill
To enjoy the good night air.
The wooded trails lie hushed and quiet
Where my thoughts no longer stray.
The geese who consumed my crusted bread
Grow more peckish by the day.
And excuse the Baker if he looks confused
When I am not there to buy his rolls.
And commit to the Ferryman two copper coins
As we all must pay his toll.
And Nature will seem modestly indifferent
As the Sun will rise again.
But remember well this road we've traveled
Where I called you Son and Friend.
Gird yourself against the slings and arrows
And receive my falling torch of deeds undone.
But before you walk the hallowed ground
Be sure to overindulge a little fun.
I weep for those who have not journeyed
Upon the wondrous track to mark our gain.
But with you my Son...who really knows?
We may yet... get to do it all again.
Mortality is lovingly given by the Grace of God
And to its betterment all should strive.
But alas our lives have one primal flaw...
No one here... gets out alive.
With this my spirit soars to celestial heights
So please accept this well-earned death.
And as Son and Friend... we will meet again.
When you partake your final breath.
And be not shy... about my demise
That allows me to walk on Heaven's path.
As only a fool like me would keep a toaster...
In the same room a person takes a bath.
The End
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