I extend a hand,
a smile to Death, and bid him
comfort in my soul.

Since my father died
so young, always unreasoned
fear of dark, the end.

I have my father's
heart; it will fail me, just as
his stopped that winter.

He worked when he could
(not often at the end) to
keep family fed.

I have my father's
heart; I work for food, shelter
to its final beat.

I say in half-jest
I work to eat better cat
food in retirement.

The half-truth unsaid
is I work so my wife might
eat in retirement.

I pray I have my
father's heart; lived so bravely
and died so alone.