From a father's rooted Palomar
I've monitored my scopes and dials
With a heart stretched out across the miles,
And watched, so many ticks behind,
Whips of light, already shined,
Leaping from a distant star.
I've envied his times, though they were my own:
Why are we not in his faded red car,
With nothing seeming very far --
Weaving roads and cities teeming --
Cruising, joking, jamming, dreaming,
Neither knowing better, neither father nor son?
Converging times flow side by each,
Until, at last, no one need mind
Whose time's ahead and whose behind.
He who lay across my hand
Still raises me to be a man,
I to learn and he to teach.
I've monitored my scopes and dials
With a heart stretched out across the miles,
And watched, so many ticks behind,
Whips of light, already shined,
Leaping from a distant star.
I've envied his times, though they were my own:
Why are we not in his faded red car,
With nothing seeming very far --
Weaving roads and cities teeming --
Cruising, joking, jamming, dreaming,
Neither knowing better, neither father nor son?
Converging times flow side by each,
Until, at last, no one need mind
Whose time's ahead and whose behind.
He who lay across my hand
Still raises me to be a man,
I to learn and he to teach.
~~~~~~~~~~
Douglas Logan
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