Walk with me, under the generous sky,
and let us think of our fathers,
their hands, though now gentle with age,
still carry the memory of ancient oaks.

In their frailty, we see the passage of time,
no promise of tomorrow, only the beauty
of every present moment with them,
cherishing the fleeting grace of now.

See how they move through the world
with the determination of a stream,
carving paths through stubborn rocks,
drawn by the silent pull of purpose.

In the mornings, a shadowed veil falls
over the memory of dew-kissed grasses,
age, a relentless teacher, becomes a friend,
each lesson a well-remembered step.

Remember how he taught you about nature,
to stop and “just listen” – can you go there again?
hear the muted murmur of water in the distance,
you can smell it for a mile, wool and moss.

Picture him sitting there, in that green place,
again in the evening’s golden glow,
his eyes, two wells of sacred wisdom,
reflecting the setting sun, stories untold.

Remember he will always be with you,
in every breath of wind, every rustle of leaves,
guiding stars in the night sky, leading you home
when you’ve lost your way – “just listen”.

To all our fathers, familiar trailbreakers,
whose love flows like a never-ending river,
whose spirit, though aged, remains steadfast,
we pledge our hearts in sincere gratitude,
forever bound to their enduring legacy