Your Turn

He comes and sits beside,

An old man, tired but proud;

Asks you something casual,

But you are too engrossed

To listen or respond in kind,

And he gently moves away,

Back into his silent routine,

Of quiet independence.

Struggling over his mobile,

He hesitates to bother,

For it's the umpteenth time,

That you have clarified,

At the end of your tether,

Other distractions entice you,

So he opts to wrestle alone,

With a gizmo beyond his comprehension.

He who once guided your life,

The wealth of knowledge,

Ever willing to share, to enlighten

Your every silly query of old,

When did you stop asking,

Valuing his opinion, when did

His old fashioned views;

Turn out in stark opposition to yours.

Those old, gnarled hands;

Once guided you with their strength.

His selfless sacrifice,

Afforded you the privileges you own.

In the dawn of his age,

As he turns into a child again,

Be his anchor, that ship has sailed;

He looks to you for direction,

It's your turn now, to be his beacon.