Sitting by the fireside and gazing at the flames,
a crystal glass of sherry in my hand,
My thoughts drift back, to a different time and place
when I was still a boy, not yet a man.

I remember you were patient when I did not understand
math problems that came easily to you.
I remember stories read to me before the lights went out.
You shared your love of books; I love them too.

I remember when I made you proud, in ways that children do
I remember, with some sadness, times I disappointed you.
Sometimes I'll use a turn of phrase when speaking to my child
and realize that my words are both your substance and your style.

I will not see your like again, here, in this vale of tears.
but I remember that you loved me; that sustains me through the years.
and when this fire burns to ash, as it is wont to do,
they'll bear me to the sacred place, returning me  to you.