This Isn'T Right
How can you speak so evenly,
and still with good cheer in your voice?
For I know you have always been one to see things as they are.
You have always been strong, secure, and proud;
never one to beg for sympathy or curse fate.
Even now - with the grip of Nature's blind corruption upon your chest -
you keep your eyes forward.
Ever forward. Fearless. How can one be fearless in the face of death?
Oh my father - it isn't your time.
Your sons and daughters still wrapped up in their studies,
your wife thinking she would have decades left with you.
You are the pride of your still-strong mother,
the inspiration of thousands of men.
All I can think: this isn't right - it's not your time to go.
You have carp left to catch, bullets to fire, morse-coded greetings to send, chickens and turtles to raise.
And us to guide.
What an ugly sadness it is for me to know
there's little chance you'll see your children marry,
or your first grandchild,
or the face of your wife when you have reached a ripe old age.
And God how you deserve such things!
You are the star, my father, that keeps our paths aglow.
All I can think: this isn't right - it's not your time to go.
You've led a good life so far -
risen from want to prosperity,
raised four children,
led men and women, young and old,
inspired confidence and virtue,
given to those who ask of you,
and always done more than enough.
Always aimed for better and truer things.
Always been honest and loving.
You have a noble heart - the first and last of its kind.
All life is a gift, but it still hurts to have such a treasure
returned to the face of God.
And though I feel now isn't right, I know it's to Him you go.
28 September 2020
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