To My Father            By Marshall R. Goldberg


The fields of golden grain greet their harvest.

The stalks have given up their seed.

Leaving the tan now-barren landscape waiting

for her spring.


Life renews - - again.


Yet our thoughts dwell on that glorious summer.

Those days when the never-aging spirit stood

in all her glory bringing the gifts.

But let us not forget what remains.

The ideals that renew and fuel the greater sense of what

we can be.

If only having known the decency and goodness

of his life.


The gift is mine.

The gift is yours.

The gift is for all.