To Answer Love with Life Don Hackett   Life was at morning and a young boy Breathlessly ran in the brilliance of dawn’s promise But dark clouds drank the brilliance of sunrise. A rush of cold wind chased away the early warmth, And the child was no more. Alone the footsteps of that child had formed the features of his father’s world. His voice was the music that gave life the dance. The expectancy of his eyes, the catalyst of his dreams, Gave to the father life’s greatest meaning. He was the one child, the only son there would ever be. His light was gone, leaving the man a legacy of darkness. So the father turned from living, embarking upon A sunless inward journey, a twisted voyage Across a soul lost sea of bitter pain. After many months he found the heart of his being, Kindled still by stubborn embers, The residue of the glow that once had been. There in the lingering warmth of a thousand yesterdays, He sought refuge, a moment of rest. The fires of life renewed; understanding waxed within him. Though to him his only child would never return, He remained a father, continuing beyond An abrupt turn in his own life’s seeking. His eyes remembered brightness, his hearing would recall sounds His arms remembered holding, his lips held still a goodnight kiss. His hands remembered touching, his lap the lightness of his son. More than all this, he touched again the dreams And knew himself their bearer. He returned to living, to those who loved him. Finding himself much as before, but tempered, Reforged in his long road back to life. For all he had been given, for the richness of a timeless beauty. He resolved to strive for worthiness, to answer love with life. I know, for I am that man. The boy is Olin, our only child. He is alive, in me, through me, and somewhere beyond me. In a place or form I do not now recognize, but someday will, When at last that moment comes and we have met once more.