20191121.0430

The bigger brazen sentinel still stands
And stares at me and silently demands
I take it in my mouth and in my hands
To tongue it and to blow until it sounds
A deep-voiced call that oftentimes resounds
Until the echo me entire surrounds
And takes me back into my younger days
When I still thought I might earn myself praise
For acting so upon a public dais.
It was the father of my father it once knew,
And he, so far as I know, first it blew,
Though putting lips upon it, I must do
Now that he long since gave up drawing breath.
My work of hand and mouth belies his death.