I walk at evening all alone Remembering days and years long gone

And the shapes of darkness brush my soul

Like pages from an open scroll.

In memory, then, I return

Foraging hungrily to discern

Elusive sensations once so real

Which now escape my need to feel.

A misty light plays hide-and seek

Criss-crossing my path in soft mystique

Like blurred images the past, long gone

Whispers softly 'not alone.'

My Dad (affectionately called Daddy)

The Gate of the Year