The house wasn’t as old as my father,
However some parts were starting to creak,
He detested outliving my mother,
And wanted a still house that didn’t speak.
His small bedroom window had a loose screw,
And it made a rattling sound day and night.
It made a sound whenever the wind blew,
He would call out her name , “Joan”, in fright.
I comforted him by reading Milton,
He would open his eyes and seemed at peace,
“ I am worried about that window son”
I smiled trying to put his mind at ease.
“ It is just that rattling old window dad,
It’s a sound you’ve heard many times before,
“You are so right”, he said, ”and I am glad”,
“You are my good son, my good son and more.”
“You are not worried about the window,”
“No”, he said “ I am ready to just fly”,
“I would like an apple before you go”
“I always loved the taste of apple pie.
As the night pranced along he passed away,
Even the wind ceased its endless dance,
Perhaps it understood in some strange way,
The death of greatness should be in silence.