Daddy, remember when I held your hand, I was twelve                                                              – you were human then.

You slipped away to obscure places where the laughter of children calling,                   “Papi papi,” anchored you.

At family gatherings, you hung your head, then slipped into the night                                    – like a shadow flees sunlight.

“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thoughts and the thought has found words”

Robert Frost