the summer mist of northern Maine are sudden
the sun can disappear in clouds of grey
Out sailing in a dinghy with my cousins
We watched all of our landmarks fade away

      but even as we wondered how to fill our sails
      a motor sounded, her prow appeared and there
      he was coming from the fog

the summer storms of newfoundland are sudden
the winds they bring across the sea are long
the boat we sailed a chip upon the ocean
as we were crossing out to Miquelon

      but even as the waves as big as houses crashed around us
      I had no fear -- He watched the winds and knew
      we would come out from the fog

Eighty seven summers left him weary
but he still had a twinkle in his eye
his walk was slow -- his pace was measured clearly
but teenage girls still smiled when he walked by

      but even as his breathing slowed and labored still
      we held his hands -- the room filled up with light 
      as he went out from the fog
© 2002 Adam Hirsch.