In this we prosper profit and pronounce
the gaudy bunting does announce.
In this we move stop and fail
the tears fall like spring hail.
In this we find the top the bottom
and on us death doth pounce.
A free and flowing dialogue
Uncle
Your father he had resolve,
the hills themselves could make it clear.
Problems yours never to be solved.
Mom she cared and never wavered,
the cold she knew would freeze your tears,
all the while the life you savored.
He had been left behind,
no vision to the past would focus.
The tree that's drawn, to you unkind.
I made a call as that's the way,
a conversation one way.
The sun will not shine on every day.