The Question Poem by Stanley Cooper

“Dad,
Now that you’re seventy-five, do you ever think about your death? ”

Yes son

I know to live forever
With those I love
Is just a fantasy

But sometimes I ponder
The inevitability of my death
And when I do
The valued gift of my long life
Is more clearly focused

When past times are recalled
I long for those loved and lost
Hauntingly, wistfully
Remembered

Sadness and futility
Cloud my thoughts
I too will be only a memory
But when?
I wonder

I’m eighty now
And do not dwell on death

Avoidance?

Acceptance?

Perhaps a bit of each