Los Gatos Weekly-Times

Papa's Hand

By Robert Aldrich

They were building a new bridge across Segar's Creek down by the cemetery.
Papa and I went for our Sunday afternoon walk. We came to the unfinished bridge and started across;
I looked down between the narrow planks and saw the dark water of the creek swirling far below me; I shrank back.
"Don't be afraid," Papa said. "I'll help you across." He took my small hand in his big one and together we slowly crossed the bridge.
Very soon after that Papa was gone from our lives.
I think that soon the time will come when I have to cross another bridge, and there will be a moment when I am afraid;
And then I will feel Papa's hand on mine; we will cross the bridge together.
I will look up and see his face.
Then perhaps I will see the face of Our Lord.

Bob wrote this poem and read it a few months ago at a meeting of Poetry for Everyone--Editor

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