Dad, the days just
go rolling by and,
somehow, I still
feel it's not right
that you aren't here
to see them.
Part of me never
wants to accept that
all memories are now
defined, limited
and cemented in
place, like the
crazy paving I
helped you lay, back
in the summer of
'78. But it
can't be denied,
and I know that
everyone has to
live in these
streets someday,
that maturity demands
an acceptance
of what is
and what is
not, any longer.
When
you came to fetch
me home from college
that last time, and
I couldn't help but
cry at the passing of
those days and the joys
of those friends,
you just told me
to do what I needed to
do, but make
sure I told you the
directions
for home - so
I hope you won't
mind that the tears
still roll
down.
