Remember how he'd calmly look up
while one finger traced the rim of his coffee cup.
He'd glance skyward, nod his head, smile;
spending time with him was worthwhile.
From this path dark on my knees
I fall to God, present my pleas.
How I wish I could sit near him--
hear advice as he traced his coffee cup's rim.
He'd tell me each path has a reason;
each darkened sky has its own season.
As one finger traces the rim of my coffee cup,
I do see more light when I calmly look up.
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