The old man dribbles
Where his teeth don’t fit
His daughter wipes his chin
And smoothes his hair
A biscuit he nibbles
While his eyes beg her to sit
And smiling she gives in
Beside his cushioned chair
Thank you he tells her
With a lopsided smile
And taking her hand holds it fast
As he rests his cheek on her head
It’s almost as if his old nose smells her
I’m happy when you sit with me a while
Says the old one as he breathes his last
I love you, Dad, was the last thing she ever said
The Old Man
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