I prayed then to understand, to become more like you.
Years have passed. That's turned out the way that things do.
I still don't know half of what I begged to learn.
I've grown lazy, let go of our fire that burned.
I had half your compassion, six times what I have now.
The mean streak you were missing got bigger somehow.
I have doubts I could pull off your final retreat.
Hosting doubt's just step one to admitting defeat.
Over time, which, in hindsight, has slogged on in a blur,
I've become the opposite of whoever you were.
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