... I imagine, a long day would puddle at Dad's feet. He’d be feeling “low” and needing to hear … peace. “Play me a song,” he’d whisper, his eyes heavy, nearly closed. For a while, he’d trace my tune on the piano with a hum that cracked on the high notes and dipped low when his chest did.
Eyes closed now.
Just a closer walk with Thee, Grant it, Jesus, is my plea, Daily walking close to Thee, Let it be, dear Lord, let it be And then silence, when the sleep finally came.