How precious the young, how precious the old

I saw from the window of my car,
As I was speeding by,
An old man.

He walked like my Father did,
one short shaky step after another,
looking forward with concentrated eyes,
that told you in no uncertain terms
that this was work.

The world had changed
from a place of confidence and freedom
to a whirlwind of frighteningly infrequent familiarity.

My Da would, as he walked towards you on his shaky pins,
give a characteristic wave and a happy smile.
To see a friendly face, a welcome in the road,
made him happy.

I looked in the rear view mirror,
and glimpsed you, the future.
The one I named after the Father I loved.
And I wanted to stop the car,
and chase after the old man,
and show him you,
and watch him smile,
that I might glimpse what Dad's smile might have been.

How precious the young,
how precious the old.