Memory will not serve to soften
or to erase the spikes of anger
sorrow, sadness and grief
the trembling hand that wields
this brush cannot revive belief
he who was there in childhood
who laughed, loved guided and consoled
who through the path of life
was there to steer, to hold
with a hand with fingers gnarled with age
that were with wisdom formed to calm
he is gone away into that other land
now there are only these grey spikes
these shards of what was
the love we built together
and these are not grief's needed balm
but with the months, years, decades
that shall pass away I hold to hope
that by my memory of him and all he held
the spikes shall be smoothed and brushed away