I don't seem to remember
My father at all.
He went to the war
And came back in November
But he isn't the father
I knew.
My father was masterful,
I dimly recall.
This old man with a stooping
Appearance looks pitiful.
And I find myself asking:
Is it you?
I look at him trembling
As he stares at the wall
With eyes vacant, and the image
Of someone resembling
A diaphanous ghost I
Perceive.
The thousands who fell
In answering the call,
Are eternally at peace in Elysium
But some who survived suffer hell
Here on earth and
Grieve.
© Luigi Pagano