my father

My Father.

Shrunk he has, my father his suit
too big now could fit me, only
they are so old fashion and it would
be too spooky to wear one after
his death.

Ninety, feet polish pavement,
his best friend is a cobbler.
Will I be old as him?
Do I have the courage?
There is a choice, but life is the only
thing I know, every spring is
more beautiful as the previous one,
does he think the same and keep on
living out of terror of the night?

His eyes are clear, a smile plays on
his cherry lips; the old man
has read my thoughts and nods.