As my father did
I cut my nails
and likely will ‘til
all else fails
as it did for him
not long ago
and yet they say
the nails still grow
for some time after
the breath is gone
the tune is there but
not the song
yet still we clip
and shape and file
our lives and hopes
within some style
as if a lock
and its single key
might remain
in memory
I cut my nails
as my father did
nor can this truth
now be hid
from my own son
and the future told
by these scissors
I now hold.