Barbara's Father

"A son is a son,

until he takes a wife;
A daughter is a daughter,

all of her life" - an adage from folklore.

"Barbara's Father"

Having just missed the call,
i played back her message
within a few moments.

The voice was a small girl
Who had become separated
From her father in a large crowd,
Thus with panic and grief
And shifting with each word,
As if pressing against a fluttering heart,
to say that "Dad passed away this morning"

And all this from a whip smart,
Always poised and emotionally prudent,
Middle aged and practical woman
- and a student of mathematics to boot.

She found him, however
Soon after, as he had quickly
Found and comforted her,
Though this time
He had come from another place

But as always
In his invariably steady and measured manner -
This wonderful ninety-one year old,
Professor Emeritus and finest caliber Father,
And Grandfather as well, was there.

Albeit, her two brothers
Most certainly felt their grief
As nobly as a son could,
Neither may ever be able
To fully gather in the bond
Between this father

and his daughter,

That was found again
In that milling crowd
and sealed forevermore
Into the bittersweet of eternity,

On that early morning
When like the distant
Will-o'-the-wisp
Of a church bell's ring,

A father's daughter
And a daughter's father,
Sang soft and low,
Love's sweetest duet,
Into the endless Spring

And when not with him
She can hear him sing
While he walks hand in hand
With her mother,
Along Northeastern Oregon's,
Country Eight Mile Road,

His golden baritone,
New York and Whitman trained,
Echoing like a Showboat tune
Along a Northwest Plain...