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
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