We sat there yesterday, chatting.
Though we live under the same roof,
it's not something we often do.
You go your way and I go my own,
and so often I'm working,
it seems I'm never home.
And as we sat,
you brought up the war...
and I admit that I cannot share your fears for our country
when Isreal attacks Iran.
I think of the war and fear for my peers
which are still losing their lives.
A generation gap, maybe?
Obviously something more personal than a hatred for our president,
at least.
Then you mention our old friend,
and how they've called in the care of a hospice.
And I look into your eyes as they tear.
'Everyone goes, you know? ' I say.
'It just hurts so much more when you watch the strong ones.'
And both of us reaize, if only momentarily,
that maybe, we are on the same page.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem