I watched him slowly growing old and frail
But still he passed before I was prepared—
A dreadful fight in which few men prevail
Approached with peace where others have despaired.

I often try in vain to recollect
The many times he spoke my name with pride,
Occasionally pausing to reflect
On memories less stark than when he died.

Now when I stare into a looking glass,
I see his features blended in my own
And shed a tear despite the years that pass—
A kinder, wiser man I’ve never known.

I only hope when someone measures me,
I’m half the man he showed me how to be.


This poem first appeared in Vita Brevis Press (May 2019).
Used here with permission.