I Could See Him Ageing

The young lad all worn with fitness and dynamism,

In his muscles was some brawn of life,

Adding to the gentle look were groomed mustaches,

Going perfectly with his frail eyelashes!

The white-collared gentleman of our abode,

As an ideal son who was well-brought up,

Never did I see him bowing down to the fate,

Remaining diligent to whatever came by in his plate!

Sagacious and wise for the folks around,

Yet a toddler by heart to me,

Fitting his fingers perfectly within that of mine,

Dad brought to me an assortment of shine!

From climbing his shoulder for excursions,

To rambling with him in my lisping tone,

I still can recall my weeping denials for attending school,

When he kept me home without being cruel!

And what not had he done for me,

Conferring best education to proffering his panache,

Dad had truly been alike the steadfast shadow,

I found besides me in dark and even on meadow!

But why is it for the charm to get grey,

And limbs to weaken with drowning age,

When his wrinkling face albeit retains the ravishing felicity,

Without apprehending his breaths to break the fidelity!

Despite, he bounced and frisked when I came home,

Shook mom off the kitchen to cook for me,

Trying to hid his withering pain and kept cheering,

Yet being my shadow, I could see him ageing!