There are so many things that our men can't seem to say,
As if the forming of the right words gets in their way.
In email, chat, and messaging they communicate many things,
That if dependent on spontaneity, their thoughts would grow wings --
Not to tell us what they think, feel, or want for themselves
But in trying to please what in each of their communicants indwells.
I had a message conversation with a beloved nephew today;
The many topics we touched on were of a varied array.
He's intelligent, compassionate, and politically interested,
But none of my personal opinions has he actually requested.
He did, however, ask for some of my remembered information
About the family we had shared before his life's creation.
I hope he knows that all my most vivid recollections
Are actually made up, in part, by others' reflections.
There is no absolute truth in any telling of history;
Every reflection is colored by the person who did see.
Nothing would please me more than to our history hear
From the mouths of the people my nephew holds most dear.