As he languished in his chair
His beady red ringed eyes
Were blankly focused in a stare
No longer did he amble
Through the epics of his past
His hand caressed his sherry glass
Perhaps it was his last
I couldn't see resolve
Within old pater's careworn face
Inevitably ready
Now to slip from life's embrace
Not feeling as he should do
That his life had been fulfilled
And humble in achievement
From a learning curve instilled
I watched for several hours
Betwixt wake and careworn sleep
The glass slipped from poor pater
And I long suppressed to weep
And then as I arranged him
Picked the phone up dialed and said
I've sat with dearest pater
Now I feel the poor man's dead
