The chair is empty just as I left it last spring.
It sits in the woods as quiet prevails,
All green is gone.
The cold wind stirs the tree branches
where the cardinals and chickadees
now make their song.
The chair sits in my quiet place
where my mind can find its soul.
Each time I see the chair, my heart sees my Dad...
A man of boys.
It must be the tranquility with the steady persuasive breeze,
The shadow in the chair is not really mine,
But the man my heart sees.
He was a quiet man,
Kind and observing, quick to see the better side of things.
His actions and words were a channeling influence,
His anger rarely seen.
He inspired the desire to be one’s self,
The very best one could be.
He has been gone for as long as the chair has been empty, though his spirit is here and my heart is full.