In Father's Memory

Where does a word of warmth and comfort go?
On a sleepless night,
by a northern gust,
A shadow that slips from lips fever-glow?..

Where do the quiet songs and ballads wend?
Merged with the fire's dance,
the shimmering tide,
In a single sigh as dawnbreaks descend?..

Where do the loyal people drift and part?
On a road of white,
by a cruel fate's hand,
Torn from the burning core of a heart?..

Where does the memory, bright and clear, flee?
With a needle fine,
piercing soft and deep,
A soul worn fragile by storms, endlessly?..

The word, so warm…
The songs, now stilled…
The people, loyal…
The memory, bright.

November, 1987