Old Man, Ancient Poem by Sandra LampeMartin

Who are you? Father?
Old, Older than it's possible to be.
How did you get so old, ancient?
Yesterday:
Robust, strong, tall, tanned,
A mighty oak of a man with a will of iron.
Today:
I gaped at this tiny man, thin, fragile, gray,
A bit of sagebrush a wisp of wind can carry away.
Great tears welled in my eyes as I gaze at you,
But there a moment of hope dawned on your face.
Those glorious eyes,
Which see the good or bad deeds of a girl in an instant,
Still show from a face weathered with the storm of age.
Beautiful eyes dancing with mischief among the wrinkles
Caused by a deluge of well used years.
I’m no little girl anymore,
Yet my tears flow as a five year old with a scare.
I was searching for my daddy, but he wasn’t there.
Then I looked into those eyes,
I knew you were still with me.
The years are a thief robbing the body,
But cannot steal a spirit such as thee.
You are gone now, moved on to a higher view.
Not take me with you on your eternal journey.
Although, I gaze out across tomorrow,
And I see your eyes gazing back at me.