I can’t remember where I came across this poem, but it expresses some of the gratitude I feel for the gifts my father gave me from his generous heart.

In the Evening by Bobi Jones

In the evening by the fire my father flows back to me.

The things we did together, and myself often

Unkind.   His kindly courtesy ghosts

Its way here and shelters my heart under its proud and simple wing.

When the great emptiness swelled him beyond the void

I did not realise he would remain within me despite a departure so final.

And that he would dart into my head as though relaxing at home

In the evening by the fire with his feet on the shelf of my mind.

Behind the world’s back, in the evening by the fire

His love wanders down.   Behold it all comes back.

It infuses my veins to create their power

To shine on my memory of the days that were so dear.

And I too will wander along the evening of some day

To the hearth where all is bound together, the store of all beloved things.

When he was the age that I now am, my father still had about 25 years of life ahead of him.  At that time,  I was aware of his strengths and failings, but I do not think I judged the balance of his personality fairly or generously.    I did not understand that not only could he, being human, not be perfect, it would not be desirable for one’s parent to be so.   Nor did I understand the balances that lay between him and my mother.   I have grown sufficiently mature to understand that in all liklihood, I do not judge them correctly now.


About adhocannie
I am a good natured woman with a long memory and a swift tongue. I like loooking at things and thinking about them. Also food, clothes, travel, reading, sewing. I try to see the ridiculous in things, but sobriety of reflection keeps edgting in. I have husband, children, grandchildren, friends... I feel rich in things that matter. I am a happy exile. I like writing. I do not like talking about me (though I do.). You willl be much more interesting.

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