We bear the same old earmark,
The Year of Dragon.
But you have stood your ground,
Despite seasonal wax and wane.
I become a sojourner,
Half way from the Middle Kingdom.

This early morning,
H hurries back to bury his father.
This Saturday,
M makes the last rite to his papa in Canada.
25 years ago,
I inched my dusty way home to bid farewell to my daddy.

You are sparkling in this predawn darkness,
Cable lights outshine Manhattan in the backdrop.
The travelers are sparsely few,
But not too few to see a car wreck.
Some may never cross you,
Self-exiled hither at the shore of night.

I must cross the long and narrow and the river below,
For my home is thither in the Garden country.
Faith is my EZ Pass,
My account is fed by credit card.
Whose is it?
Not mine but His!

(2004/11/29, on the occasion of mourning with brother H and M who lost their fathers only days apart, prompted to pen this song on returning from sending H to JFK airport)