In My Father’s Footsteps
By John Herlihy

I hear footsteps calling,
Down the halls across the ages,
Distinctive in my father’s manner,
Crisp poems filling empty pages.
Each step echoing his unique voice,
I listen, remember, and still rejoice.

The memory comes as a mist
And like mist, I cannot turn it away.
Like a dream, his steps arrive unannounced,
As if they are ready to pounce,
Tokens of remembrance hard and brittle.
Prone to disappear on very little.

I walk in my father’s footsteps,
Created in a time when he lived and loved.
I tread in the pathway my father created,
As he gazes intently down from above.
Where they lead me makes me strong,
Following his example, I can do no wrong.

If I follow step by step,
They keep me on course.
If I take the wrong direction,
I hear his reprimand and feel remorse.
My father’s footsteps, my faithful guide.
When I follow them, his memory I abide.

These footsteps are fading;
They end with the arrival of his death.
I enter an age beyond the lifespan of his years,
To now live the life my own destiny steers.
I saw his face recently as I dreamed;
His smile a beatific light, just as it always seemed.