my Father's memory - the sonnet

As my father lay dying, I was asleep

until my brother woke me at his house.

I exclaimed to the phone, Pop made no peep;

gone I know, Pop thought of me not a louse. 

Some months from that date I will participate

in festivities to honor his death.

We made our “good-byes before it was too late.

What i learned from Pop weren’t in his last breath.

What i learned from Pop will be how i die,

for he so much loved life’s sweet mystery.

No one knows when and where our souls to fly . . 

that could be his cackle in yonder tree .  .

it won’t matter when or where once we’ve gone;

what counts is what we’ve stacked our love upon.

jts 20 September 2011 
http://stoneartist.com