When did I notice something missing?
There might have been moments years ago,
But I was too busy telling my story,
Sharing my drama and often seeking advice.
It isn’t, and wasn’t, that I failed to notice
His willingness to hear my plots and prejudices.
I now recall his silence.
If asked he would answer, unasked he deferred.
I suspect that he had much to offer,
But I was certainly willing to assume
His story was vanilla, with some flavoring
That would satisfy my limited curiosity.
It is both fascinating and sobering
To learn I knew less about more
That has happened in his life.
Fifty years, “Who Knew”?
I’ve resolved to ask the questions,
And occasionally find we are into his conversation.
Year fifty-one might see a change.
It’s up to me.
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