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C.E. Skilling

Dad

He slipped from my grasp
     turning an ashen gray
I sought help from all nearby
     begging the doctors to stay

Knowing the man as I did
     my pleas were held within
For to do as I wished
     truly, would have been a great sin

“Let me die, my son”
     were the words still in my ears
“I am old and weary
     with a heart finally void of mortal fears”

Upon the high plains
     called the sheepheads
Where we found the ruins
     of others dreams called spreads

We have seen the bleached bones
     of pine now fallen to ground
Heard lost laughter in the wind,
     where they still resound

Finally, I stroked his forehead
     saying my final goodbye
“Ahhh pop”
     was really all I could sigh

My wife pulled me from his bedside
     while I could still step on my own
His ashes, as requested
     on the sheepheads, will be sown