I am poking and prodding a burning pile of leaves
while my father leans on his rake.
We talk about school,
whatever comes to mind.
He always had time to talk to me.
We can now visit at will.
Since my death I have sifted through the memories
that were my life.
It’s true we were made in Gods image,
Who, by the way,
is just as I supposed.
I now see what formed my life,
governed my choices,
nurtured my soul.
We become what we are by the choices we make
and the best thing about this place
is the supreme gift of revisiting
my most treasured moments
in the wink of an eye — in His grace.
Posted on Sat, May 4, 2013
by Dale Swanson filed under