Embers of a Memory--Dad's Song

Our hands and our feet were warmed from the cold, while the campfire burned into embers and coal The song that he whispered combined with the sparks, and drifted away, to be lost in the dark Splinters of light outlined his shape, and hollowed the lines in his face. With fingertips calloused, he strummed his guitar into the solace of night. We gathered to listen, and gathered our tears, with smoke in our eyes and our hearts compromised. The song told the fable of babes lost in the woods who had wandered away on a bright amber day. Where the robins of red, so gingerly spread green strawberry leaves to cradle their graves Crickets, like orphans awakened from rest, lamented with sorrow from pine-needle nests This legend was saved, but others were lost, tossed to the wind, like ghost-feathers of ash. My father is gone, but the song lingers on remembered tonight, from a night in the past The wind still unfolds the song to the night whispering words that make robins cry Drifting through the trees and taking me home Still stoking the embers of a mid-summer's moon ________________________________________________________