By John Thomas Tuft

With his strength now but a flaccid echo of his youth

And a smile worn ever weary by the years

All of his questions etched into the skin at his eyes

About the follies of keeping vision while living through tears.

She stands with him wondering if she can make one last try

Being the young girl who with her beauty laid him bare

Fearlessly seductive with all of her desires

Secretly coveting all of his watchful stares.

Their son stands with them looking across the bridge

Knowing that when one crosses they must cross alone

And the price of surrendering the boy to become the man

Is sharing the tears of pain and joy of departing this home.

In his hands he cradles the gift of his daughter

For whom across the bridge is but a fairy tale of wonder

A structure formed by others as a matter of convenience

Not the end of a journey that echoes like thunder.