this is a tale from the youngest son,
about a father he once knew,
Born to the great depression,
Under a December moon.

He rode the rails when he was young,
A reluctant vagabond,
Many years have passed and gone,
This is how we remember John.
————
He was there when we were young and innocent,
Working hard to survive,
So we could exist.

He was there when we were young and on our own,
Helping hold up our dreams,
More than we could ever know.
————
His parents split when he was young,
His father a mystery,
He changed the path of his past,
To forge the man he would be.

He was a dreamer,
A mathematician, a seeker of the truth,
A dedicated fan of Da Vinci,
Conan, and Dr. Zeus
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and I recall his smile most,
There was that twinkle in his eye,
He was a good man of few words,
And we shared his life.
————
This is for the ones that came before,
That have left the world we see,
We take their place,
In the greater race,
Of current history.

So let’s toast to those that were,
And to those that will be.
To all the mother’s and father’s,
May you find the strength you need.
————
Hold them close when they are young and innocent,
Be the friend,
When you can,
And you’ll learn how to bend.

And I recall from time to time,
How much I didn’t know,
And the memories fade,
In light cascades,
Into the long ago.