Regarding the Jan. 15 Magazine article “Is poetry dead? Or, in the age of the Internet, does it offer us what nothing else can?”

I am blessed to have received the gift of poetry from my father. Just reciting my father’s favorite poems continues to sustain me during challenging times. They work like magic when the going gets tough, a tonic that revives me without failure.

And there is something more that will haunt me all my life.

As my father lay dying, unable to speak, I communicated with him through poetry. I recited his favorite poems, leaving the last few words of every sentence unfinished, and I saw his lips moving, completing those unfinished sentences. And then I forgot the last two lines of our family favorite. As I struggled to remember, I saw my father’s lips moving very vigorously to shape the words of the poem. And they continued to move in this way as his face became still and his heart stopped.

Indu Satija, Potomac