Nursing Home

A poem for my father. I love and miss you Nick.

"Nursing Home"

My father is getting older
He was 78 years on his last birthday.
I find myself growing bolder
In what I do and what I say.
During the winder when outside it's cold,
He decides to work,
Forgetting he's old,
With no coat, in only a shirt.
We laugh and tell jokes,
Our relationship is good,
Over coffee and cokes,
Things are understood.
That it's off to Camelia Garden
When his arteries harden.
July 1998