Colors whisk by like autumn leaves, do fall
Through the cracks of mine eyes made dim by sun's
Yellow stained light; yet here I still see
Before my frame one who is like to win
All things in my name, and more besides.
While the land falls into the sea nearby
I take little notice; for I espy
With one colorless eye the boy. So tall
Now is his frame! Many years has he won!
I see that many frames of victory
Now line the walls of our house. Small and thin
Appears the frail man who stands by the tides
That recede into the endless blue sea.
In memory sight is restored to me...
A Father's Sight, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012
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