I sit at my dimly lit desk
Gazing at an aged and dusty photograph.
My father leans gently on the seat of his favorite bike
Loosely gripping the handlebars with his thickly gloved hands alike

He wears a big, warm jacket
Patches of melting snow spot the ground
And a shiny Cadillac sets the nineteen sixties scene around

Life seems so simple here
No anger fills his russet colored eyes
Creases of middle aged worry and sadness vanished without a trace
Nothing but a young and bright smile upon his face

Father, how I wish we could be friends
For into this photo, I stare
And recognize the youthful face that I now compare

The same smirk
The same face
The same obstinate and hard-working person
So if we’re this alike, why does our relationship only worsen?

Time is quickly withering away like the petals of a fragile red rose
And now it’s time that we open our eyes and see
We aren’t so different, you and me