Today a man whose years have passed,
Was sitting where he's never sat,
On the wooden backyard bench,
Wondering where the years were spent.
Looking about in the soft suns glare,
It seemed he had a quiet stare.
Much different then I'd ever seen,
The air about him quite serene.
I asked myself as I looked out,
What his mind was now about,
I knew his thoughts were different now,
My Fathers heart was searching how.
How his time would come to close,
And what his place in eternity's fold.
A God of which this I think,
To him was never quite distinct.
In such a way we come to terms,
To prepare the soul, for the lights return.
He seemed a smaller man that day,
Humility, comes to men that way.
I thought, I wish I could talk to you,
And tell you of the things I knew.
But this, no this it could not be,
Pride had not taken it's leave.
But of this, I will speak to you,
That in this moment of which I viewed,
From behind the glass of the main house room.
My father spoke to me that day,
In words I thought he'd never say.
