I miss that man in the garden
With coarse dark hair and a smile
With thick skin
And callused hands
And a tender toughness
That appeals to a child

I miss that man at the table
Behind the morning paper
I miss his simple routines
And his humble ways

And I recognize in him
The strength of simplicity
The great honor and privilege
To live amongst
Such perfect repetition of pattern
What meaning it creates in time

I miss that man in the living room
Relaxed on the sofa at night

Oh the simplicity
It wrings at my heart
That being
Oh that being

Day in and day out
Over and over again
Oh what it means to be alive