Feb 2015
~
beside a warm fire on a late winter's morn,
with the help of three midwives their baby was born.
wrapping him gently to shield from morn's frost,
hearing his first breaths while holding him close.
singing a lullaby, they rock him to sleep;
cradled in their arms, they watch him dream.
twenty five winters; good years, though some long,
as a man was being forged in their little boy.
in many ways wise, encourager and friend,
the tenderest heart, persevering to the end.
through illness, through setbacks, he always believed;
and opening their arms they watch him dream.
beside a warm fire on a late winter's morn,
alone with the angels their son was re-born.
closing his eyes as he lay down to dream,
his last breath watched lovingly, he drifted to sleep.
then carried so gently to a new home above,
to awake in the arms of the many he'd loved.
today by the fire on this mid-winter's morn,
they find themselves still letting go of their son.
surrounded by memories wherever they gaze,
this earth seems clouded, though they see through its haze.
they find themselves longing for their loved one above,
and dreaming of holding this son that they love.
~
post script.
written in January of 2011, two years after his goodbye. dusted off just a bit this morning with a few of its wrinkles ironed just for posting.
this time of winter, these cold, blustery days with blue skies overhead, it seems to bring the out melencholy. might be its time to head out to one of his favorite trails not too far from here... maybe we,'ll try the Columbia Gorge's Eagle Creek trail up to Punchbowl Falls... he loved it out there away from the city.
Steve
beside a warm fire on a late winter's morn,
with the help of three midwives their baby was born.
wrapping him gently to shield from morn's frost,
hearing his first breaths while holding him close.
singing a lullaby, they rock him to sleep;
cradled in their arms, they watch him dream.
twenty five winters; good years, though some long,
as a man was being forged in their little boy.
in many ways wise, encourager and friend,
the tenderest heart, persevering to the end.
through illness, through setbacks, he always believed;
and opening their arms they watch him dream.
beside a warm fire on a late winter's morn,
alone with the angels their son was re-born.
closing his eyes as he lay down to dream,
his last breath watched lovingly, he drifted to sleep.
then carried so gently to a new home above,
to awake in the arms of the many he'd loved.
today by the fire on this mid-winter's morn,
they find themselves still letting go of their son.
surrounded by memories wherever they gaze,
this earth seems clouded, though they see through its haze.
they find themselves longing for their loved one above,
and dreaming of holding this son that they love.
~
post script.
written in January of 2011, two years after his goodbye. dusted off just a bit this morning with a few of its wrinkles ironed just for posting.
this time of winter, these cold, blustery days with blue skies overhead, it seems to bring the out melencholy. might be its time to head out to one of his favorite trails not too far from here... maybe we,'ll try the Columbia Gorge's Eagle Creek trail up to Punchbowl Falls... he loved it out there away from the city.
Steve
