In response to a poem sent to me by a close friend…
Your poem…
I relate,
I associate,
and I feel.
The bit about your Dad’s last words…
the stomach churns,
memories of my own Dad,
at his death bed.
He wanted to know…
Why?
We spoke about living and dying,
I guided him,
to…
I don’t know where.
That place,
the departure lounge,
all humans,
the inevitable.
My last words to him…
“You have been a good Dad”.
And his last words to me…
“And you have been a good son”.
Bye Dad…
tingting bilong yu…
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