Father, how sad you are.

     Sitting in a chair on the windswept deck,
     gazing at the last of the stars
     gleaming over the ocean;
     their light mixing with the foam
     washing behind the boat.

     The chill of the night's wind,
     the spray coming from the bow,
     don't move you.

     When I touch your shoulders,
     I feel how tired you are,
     aching and weary from your watch.

     I cannot stop my heart.

     I want to cry.