O'kind stranger,
you remind me,
of someone I've seen before.
In a movie,
or on some street.
Maybe right outside my door.

You shake my hand,
firm but gentle,
and bring forth an honest smile.
On a face rather familiar,
then you say,
"Dad, I'm your child."

All confused, I can't remember,
the facts behind what you claim.
So I ask a simple question;
"Sir, please tell me, what's your name?"
"Henry", you say to remind me
then suggest I take a nap.
"Henry", I say, "Can you show me,
where the nearest bed is at?"

"Come with me", you say, "I'll show you."
To which I honest reply:
"Who are you?"
You say, "I'm Henry."
I ask, "You're my son, s'that right?"
"Yes", you answer. "Yes", once more,
to confirm what isn't sure,
as you lead me though the door
to where I've not been before.

Nervously I glance around.
You say, "Dad, please settle down.
You'll feel better if you sleep."
I take your hand, saying,  "Don't leave."
"O'kind stranger, please hold my hand,
'til I drift from this strange land,
into unrecognized dreams;
robbed of all my memories."