I'll walk with you to the end of the road where lily of the valley lay low by the river and you sing a hymn.

I'll walk with you to the end of the road where old Dakota fields summon your early years and carved farm boy character into your hands, winter by winter. 

I'll walk with you to the end of the road as your books are left behind and covers fade forlorn in this library absent of your attention.

I'll walk with you to the end of the road when you are feeling sad and tired and don't know how to say so.

I'll walk with you to the end of the road when you forget your friend Wilbur's name or maybe even mine. 

I'll walk with you to the end of the road with your head bowed and frail hand cupped around a wooden stick, like when you used to walk back and forth outdoors in Spring when dad was in hospital and the only thing we could do was walk slow and pause and pray. 

You asked how I was and since being around you brings uncomplicated answers out of my over complicated cranium, I replied, "I'm sad" and choked. And you let me be sad (thank you).

You have been sad before in front of me and I've watched your shoulders shake and tears drip off your cheeks when you are moved. It's like watching a sunset sweep the sky when tenderness runs back to creation. 

We came to a hill. I warned you because I didn't want you to fall. I told you we better not go that way. You looked at the hill and back at me. "If I can't make it down and back up this hill, what's the point."

So we made it together and that's the point.

The point is, we will make it together. 

The point is, I want you to stay. 

The point is, I don't want you to leave.

The point is, you will. 

The point is, you.