Purpose

It was hard to watch
the old man sitting small bent over
He railed cloaked in the anger of his grief
God, he spat. He must be crazy.
His grand design is all out of whack
It makes no sense

I see her everywhere, my wife.  I see her in
a memory a thought a shadow.  What am I without her?
No purpose no direction alone.

It was hard to hear that kind of pain.
Walking slowly picking my steps carefully
I approach him.  Holding the old man child
frail and small I become the elder
I mummur softly You are purposeful, you are my Father.