When I was young,
and bedtime loomed,
my Father used to read to me;
stories from a wondrous book.
A Book that he alone could see.

From memory he'd recite poems
or tell of heroes doughty deeds.
Those stories shaped my mind and heart
as much as any faith or creed.

They were, of course,
the tales he'd heard
when mother had
sung him to sleep.
Stories run deep in our blood
the only treasures we can keep.