Gathered closely together
All cozy, warmed by the hearth
Seven children huddled, united as one
Joined at the feet of a tender old woman

Snow lightly fell and tenderly brushed the ground
Each supple flake made by the maker himself
The sun had long set, the sky now garnished with stars

She hummed each child's story mixed with her own
And as each line ended she felt less alone
The past came to life through her heart's pure love song
As she crooned to the children from deep within her soul

Lost in the story, her words sung as a hymn
Each child near dreams, felt her arms holding them
Keeping them safe, both tender and firm
Bound to her heart, she slowly rocked them

Her eyes glowed green with gold and brown
Soaring with excitement, unable to come down
Her delicate body leaned back in the chair
She greeted death calmly, she thought it only fair

She flew away and her soul went to rest
As it lived in the love of a memory passed

Pappy

He use to chase me 'round the house with his teeth in hand.
Never more than a few steps behind me as he confidently faltered along.
Laughter slowin' my voltaic pace 'til he finally got aholda me with those damn teeth,
eyes smirkin' with elation.
Shriekin' and laughin' 'til the tears streamed down my face

and he would say, "Why you cryin' boy?!."
Followed with my giggled response, "I'm a GIRL Pappy!"

He always did that.
With a cunnin' grin capturin' his face he kept on teasin' in his ornery fashion.

He wore a white V-neck T-shirt and worn-out blue jeans every day.
He didn't see much sense in wearing much else.
He had the leathered skin of a farmer.
Tillin' the land in his "big apple hat", shirtless and red.
He had the trained eye of a welder, concentratin' as the sparks flew, cigarette in hand.
His beard was a bit overgrown, white and scraggly, yet perfect all the same.
His lap was where I sat, my hand in his beard, testin' it's coarse texture as he sipped his dark coffee;
Occasionally pointin' out a fluttering Hummingbird or a wiry squirrel, stealin' nuts from bits of fishin' line he'd hung for entertainment.

A farmer as was his father before him.
A welder by trade.
A fisherman at heart.
His language could be course
He was sent overseas to fight with pride
And came back a veteran,
A duty served with no honor desired
An inventor from mind to hand.
A father by nature.
A teacher of life lessons.
A practical joker, facetious with intent.
He set a standard for living.

Father of my father
Fading from my mind

The art of loosing is an easy form to master;
Small items at first, keys, phone, or wallet.
The bad habit is formed and soon all is at
Risk to be lost, hope, peace, love, and dreams.

This art is not easily reversed, it can not
Just be pulled and untied, it only continues
Until there is nothing left to loose but you
And then there is me, alone, loosing sleep

The art has become a battle, a fight to keep
From loosing me, who I am, who I am meant
To become, Who I have to be to serve the
Ones who need my hand, my smile, my love

The art has turned me into the final master-
Piece, with my heart on my sleeve, my eyes
Wet with tears, my ears craving direction,
Loosing the art to master walking my path