In the mirror in the morning on the shelf
I could see someone but it was not myself.
I looked again and saw it was my dad,
reminding me of certain times we had.
Yet childhood days seem out of reach.
Remembering salty air along the beach
and crunching seashells as we strolled.
It's hard to think that he grew old.
"Your hooded eyes you got from me"
he said, "and love of literacy".
I want to say I'm doing fine.
I should have said so at the time.