Family

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When winds of time erode away your youth
And blow the clouds of age before your eyes
Which, with their stringy scud, obscure the truth,
With all their hazy streaks present their lies,
To make you think you’re less than what you were,
Or may not be the one you used to be,
And that you stand not like the sturdy fir,
But rather, like the weeping-willow tree.
Remember that I am the child you bore;
That to your very flesh I owe my soul.
This puts me in your debt for evermore,
So can some higher task now be your goal?
There is no greater gift than life to give;
Take comfort in your giving this and live.

By David Garrett
Copyright 1982

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