Seems never a November to pass with my heart unscathed
Always the pain to strike in the frigid winds of January
I draw nearer so in your steady warmth I may be bathed
And it is your stoic discipline that denies me sanctuary

A lifetime of preaching shines upon your perfection
But I fear my father's shadow residing behind your eyes
He bestows upon my mother his inherited polite affection
Yet her happy declarations her every action belies

It is their way of life from which I struggle to escape
While ever longing to hold dear their gifts to my identity
And in that mist driven journey you take the hazy shape
Of the lantern bearer whose hand may guide me to serenity

Written Jan. 4, 2005.