In a quiet restaurant, a son brought his father, An elder man, weak, yet no burden to bother. With trembling hands, his meal he ate, Spilling crumbs that time would create.
The crowd around them whispered and stared, Faces twisted, but the son never cared. With patience and love, he bore no disdain, For he knew honor blooms where kindness remains.
He led his father to cleanse and refresh, Wiped food from his face, smoothed wrinkled dress. He combed gray hair with a gentle hand, Restored the dignity of this cherished man.
Returning to silence, the room stood still, The son paid calmly and cleared the bill. But as they turned, an elder arose, A stranger with wisdom the moment chose.
“Don’t you think you left something behind?” The son replied, “Nothing comes to mind.” With a smile, the stranger softly spoke, “A lesson, my friend, in every heart woke.
You’ve left a hope for fathers to see, And taught sons what honor truly can be.” The room, once loud, grew solemn and still, A truth resounding, a moment fulfilled.
For what greater tribute can a child impart, Than to care for the ones who first gave them heart? The elders who sacrificed, who paved the way, Deserve our respect every step of the day.
So cherish the hands that once held you tight, For in their care lies a beacon of light. A timeless bond, a love so true What they gave to us, we must return too.
