The Silent Conversation

On a cold winter’s eve,

sat a young man,

with his old man,

upon the fallen leaves.

At the pond’s end,

watching the sun set,

through bare tree limbs,

the young man, began:

“Dad, why does the sparrow die?

And why do the missiles fly?

For what, must this world sigh?”

“Son, your age I saw the sparrows fly,

before I felt the world’s cry,

when still, the sun shone in the sky.”

“No Dad. I feel our world’s violence.

Mine’s not an age of innocence.

Here, dark night has its influence.”

“Son. True, the world’s evidence,

show evils in preponderance,

yet still, believe God’s providence!”

A winter’s chill,

blew through his bones,

as evening turned to night.

The light of day,

with grace, gave way,

to silver-tinted starlight.

“Oh Dad, I fear my heart goes sinking,

when in this life, the truth is blinking,

the eyes and ears for love, are shrinking.”

“Between the folds of shadows creeping,

dear truth, and love, is there for reaping.

Son, make this the goal, of your soul’s seeking!”

“This life I fear, is that goal’s brevity,

Dad, goodness drowns in mindless levity.

What hope is there, of man’s insensitivity?”  

“Son, your hope and joy, and life’s serenity,

bound in the bright folds of life’s Divinity,

are found in the heart, of your sincerity.”

The young man,

sat in silence thinking,

within his soul,

sang silent weeping.

He loved these talks,

with his old man,

yet missed the warmth,

of his kindly hand.

Their time together,

now a heartfelt prayer,

sweet memories of,

when Dad was there.


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