I like to ask the aged about their parents.
They always tell.
Their parents are dead.
But the aged remember.
He tells about his father,
A doctor for railroad workers in
Mexico’s east-central mountains.
They lost arms, legs, were crushed,
He was their doctor.
She tells about her parents,
The land now half-million dollar homes,
Then, cotton and corn, and her parents worked.
Years will pass.
Their children will age,
And they will tell about their dead parents,
Just as they told ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, late March 2013