The Fire

Chop! My father cuts the wood
Ash, oak, and cider feed the hungry fire

I stretch my hands out to the flames,
As their dancing colors rise ever higher

Painting a picture of times long forgotten
Of forest far gone from many distant parts

And as the lights dazzle our eyes we willingly recall
The memories of loved ones; that live only in our hearts

Needles pop and pine cones sizzle
Dried old wood goes grown then snap!

Smooth smoke and pine fill my senses
As I drift to sleep on my father’s lap