Ancestor

I remember my great ancestor in his prime:
He was venerable, patriarchal.
Aunt said he was Caleb of the mountains,
But he was Benjamin at the right hand.
The sunlight sank around him patiently;
He sought humility each day, and she was kind.

Always the mediator he, a traveller
Upon the middle way – not left or right,
A narrow path, his Master's way alone.
We were small but he was fun to talk to;
There was always awe, but that was friendly –
We children thought that God might be a larger him.

From the stand he growled, the prophet preacher teaching;
His fingers on the keys unlocked music;
He asked his wife if he might have ice-cream;
How can we remember everything now?
It is hard to feel him gone around us,
It is hard to feel so mortal in October.

There is a summer forgotten, drowned by autumn;
That year, we learnt the world he made for us
Was just another permitted blessing.
We are older now, we too see our end
In sight. What is this blurring of vision?
Eternity, and a brief story of his time.