I’m counting my riches as you lay at the mercy of feebleness.

Your frail appearance is a treasure box containing my fondest memories.

The hands that you can barely lift were once my compass;

you always used them to direct my eyes to specific parts of the breathtaking landscapes that surrounded our road trips.

I’m lost in the lines on your face that resemble the routes we traveled.

Perhaps wrinkles are indeed a trail of one’s journey;

yours are my trip of remembrance.

And your drained eyes? The binoculars from which I could always view life’s rainbow.


Looking at your worn out skin I see the blanket on which my fears have rested.

Your smile reveals fewer teeth, but nothing is missing from the radiance that still slides down its curve.

I have often passed my dreams onto you for safe-keeping,

knowing that you would wrap them in the secure cloth of your faith.


Your inability to walk is a humbling reminder of the strength you used to make others stand.

Never a fan of the spotlight, but the hearts you have touched illuminate you either way.


Your voice is softer now and your speech much slower,

a testimony of your gentle nature and patience over the years.

It is perhaps this that has taught us how to handle your fragile frame.


You possess a selfless kind of wisdom that collaborated with love to turn students into teachers.

Do not worry about your memory loss, we are carrying your story now.

Your life has left us with a bookshelf of tales that we will carry into the promise of forever.


Fatigue has made a home in your body yet I can’t help but see a piece of the earth’s gold;

reminiscing on the wealth I have collected from your every breath.


8210cookie-checkGOLD YEARS OLD
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