The Gift

“after the gift of our friendship / when I am alone to see myself for what I am”

—Malcolm M. Sedam, “Poem to My Father”

Image:  Bert Richardson, circa 1960, Elkorn Lakes

The Gift 

So I finally came to know that failing to be grateful for the gift our fathers give us, we fail to live.

       In Memoriam:  Bert Richardson
     January 12, 1913 – August 5, 2000

Each human heart beats for love
In the ever-new-time-place of Now—
My father gave his heart’s love
And I began to search God’s gifts
For I was slow to awaken to giving.

Passing this world off to offspring
Takes a fearless, mature being.
Pain endures in sorrow’s valley
Where age eludes wisdom
Where each brush with pride

Engraves a puffed up chest.
Waiting to hear the footsteps
He followed to the river of doubt
To the sea that forced its silence
On the day that bore me,

I had only tears to purify my past—
God bestows the gift on beings
Who erect monuments to love’s legacy
To keep the child’s growth fixed
For eternity and focused on nobility.


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