Light's Eyes Dim Poem by C. Cory Spencer

The man, aged beyond years
gently pats his son's hand.
Feels burning heat of fevers.
Flush skin sweating streams just
yesterday's stage, today's touch too,
too Hot, dry no sweat, lips cracked.
Tomorrow's final symptom lukewarm
to cooling, cool, cold... tic, ticking.

'Daddy, daddy...' fingers barely grasping.
A father's eyes well toward response,
'Just hang on my young one, '
he whispers to his only living son,
'the Americans are coming'
'Yes daddy, then I'll be better, right? '
tearful father's rough throated response,
'Yes my son, when the Americans come.'

Today we lost Einstein, or was it
Beethoven? maybe it was
Leonardo or Shakespeare,
or did Gandhi disappear?
perhaps...