I have seen him since a kid,
sold fruits for mouths to feed.
He was then a young lad,
and ran the show like his dad.
His dad had a nagging cough,
the doctors dealt but it was tough.
He took to bed slowly one day,
the ground he stood on swept away.
Words of doctors he abided by,
pain in chest but spirits held high.
Doctors came now lesser to him,
as every passing day was grim.
With wet cheeks his wife sobbed,
as his future was slowly robbed.
Wrinkles still on the forehead show,
that his end was near, he didn't know.
He wanted to live for family's sake,
but one day slept never to wake.
He is now, no more a young lad,
but a trader better than his dad.
Prasenjit©1997-2012
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