His cough rattled from deep within,
rising to the surface like an echo in a cave.
The land inside of him was tired.
The fields of his strength lay fallowed.
He is long from the days when a foolish youth
wasted what was right, sacrificing his
health to the weight of years lost.
Today is the autumn of his travel. A road
once wide with success now narrow.
When he stands he resembles a fragile wall
unable to resist the forces of gravity;
a frail shadow once with promise.
He is a father or a brother, a soul of lost
fortune; a smile glimpses his youth.
Because we care were painted with sadness.
We are angry for our loss and the
Companionship once cherished.
He was my grandfather. I will miss him.
Roger Singer 