I look at him <br />Illuminated by the dim yellow glow <br />of warm lamplight <br /> <br />He smiles <br />reclined and comfortable <br />in the chair of my youth <br /> <br />His rough unshaven face <br />carries the lines <br />of a million good times <br /> <br />His warmth makes <br />the slightly tattered furniture <br />look better, more comfortable <br /> <br />He stays up late into the night <br />telling worn old jokes <br />still funny <br /> <br />He basks in the love of his family <br />come to see him <br />and is warmed <br /> <br />I am carried back <br />carried to my place <br />in that chair <br /> <br />Loved and protected <br />rough whiskers on my skin <br />always safe with him <br /> <br />Sitting in that chair <br />always with a laugh <br />always with a smile <br /> <br />Now the oxygen tube snakes <br />'round his neck <br />while he tells stories <br /> <br />But his laugh <br />is still deep <br />and loud <br /> <br />The hour is late <br />and I drink his fine whiskey <br />that he no longer can <br /> <br />I look deeply <br />into his sparkling eyes <br />and know that he will die <br /> <br />But not when he can laugh <br />and still feel <br />like a child<br /><br />James Jarrett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-trip-to-see-my-father/
