Collecting shooting stars,

keeping them on the nightstand, like fireflies in jars.

Holding dandelions tightly in my fists,

wishing for times more simpler than this.

Absent always stood in the place that you should.....

Should have been, been there as any father would.

Death has become you, so now forever absent you shall stay.

If I could flip the hour glass would it remain that way?

If I bartered with time to buy you just a few more grains of sand,

would I clutch a father's love, or merely withered wishes in my hand?