Oftentimes, I wish I had been a better son,
You always knew best, but I never listened.
Only now have your lessons begun to shine,
Helping me leave past regrets behind.
I regret it took your passing to see,
Yet in the last light of day, you shine through me.
Like the glow of your kitchen where laughter would rise,
And the scent of spaghetti still lingers in mind.
Your birthday is here—the one I’d forget,
Not out of neglect, nor thoughtlessness,
But somewhere deep, I always knew,
That birth meant one day; you would die too.
As good as you thought I was with words,
I failed when it mattered, my voice unheard.
Now it’s too late to apologize,
But if I could, I’d do it right.
