Old Father

The father felt the warmth of his young daughter
lying still, napping securely, snugly
against his side. He whispered quietly
to the child’s mother, neither wanting to wake
her. They were in awe of her beauty.
Listening to her gentle breathing, they felt
the stillness like night owls over the nest.
The father touched the child’s arm,
and felt the newness of her smooth skin. He
prayed this moment would last forever, then
lectured himself, “Look! Look deeply
so you don’t forget this moment;
the youth and beauty of the child, the love
of her mother. Etch it into your mind and heart.”
Just then the image began to lift like fog,
to fly away. With moist eyes, he lifted
his arm into the air to grab hold
of the fleeting image, and cried,
“come back, come back, come back.”
It nonetheless disappeared
into the void of the old father’s dream.