He never had to use a cane,
His mind was sharp, his eyes the same.
He always had a word to say
About the news of the day.
“That man Purdue, who sells those chickens,
he looks just like his feathered victims!”
He never had to part his hair,
It was just a fringe, the top was bare.
I never heard him raise his voice
He always came and brought us toys.
He was the last one of his era,
What did he see in his own mirror?
An old man now or faded youth?
Which was it then, what was the truth?
He asked a clerk for some water,
They called the medics, he was on the floor now.
What was the last he saw that day,
The glass of water, maybe an aide?
What were his thoughts as life ebbed out?
Had he enough, had he some doubt?
I think of him and wish him here,
So we could talk, I held him dear.