The fire's remaining sparks are fading,
by Martha M. Fuller
As I tenderly fold this book,
Closing the well worn cover,
And placing him, near his nook.
May he rest as I, 'til tomorrow's eve,
When again, we join our hands,
And play "hopscotch" among the words,
And escape to fairylands.
Distance may separate us, dear Dad,
Yet I feel your presence there -
Chuckling, or shedding a tear with me,
On the arm rest of my chair.
All are welcome to join me.
Tomorrow eve, please bring a friend,
Once again, to share a quiet hour:
The final chapter to - day's end.
Now, wearily I shall rest my eyes,
And let my mind envisions scenes,
Past the open door toward peaceful,
Down the path to restful dreams.
Arm in arm, with a favorite rhyme,
I stroll - as friend with friend.
We crest the hill. Old Slumber joins us:
The perfect closure, at day's end.