To My Father
By Marshall R. Goldberg
The fields of
golden grain greet their harvest.
The stalks have
given up their seed.
Leaving the tan
now-barren landscape waiting
for her spring.
Life renews - -
again.
Yet our
thoughts dwell on that glorious summer.
Those days when
the never-aging spirit stood
in all her
glory bringing the gifts.
But let us not
forget what remains.
The ideals that
renew and fuel the greater sense of what
we can be.
If only having
known the decency and goodness
of his life.
The gift is
mine.
The gift is yours.
The gift is for
all.
AMEN.