The Ask

As my father asked for his walking stick,

I couldn't help but pause.

Because I began to reflect on those days,

That I now refer to as 'was'.

My father would lift me high over his head,

And as I would laugh in the joy of it,

He would laugh seeing the joy in me.

When I asked for something,

I would get it, without any question,

But only if I was deserving,

And he would ask for nothing in return.

When I made him proud,

He would pat me on my back.

When I did something afoul,

He would put me right and that was that.

Perhaps my father read my mind,

Because he reminded me of his ask and said,

'We both are headed the same way, either you give it or I take it, we always look ahead.'

I smile as I hand it over to him,

Both shedding a tear,

And I silently thank him,

For those days of past years.