Your father is dying.
Do I know how you feel
Because my father is dead?
No, every dying is different,
And every father as well.
I know my own pain,
But I wear yours as mine,
Though words fail me.
If I could speak the right ones,
You and I would share
The miracle of death
As we have shared—
three times—
The miracle of life.
Yet I can only stand
In the shadows
And take your hand
Whenever you offer it.
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