crickle camp fire crackles
from trickly drip mist bog
sip fine pine sap wine
atop birchwood swamp log
wet wood smoky choky
impromptu bonfire night
midsummer daze-y haze
from many-hued flame light
translucent and transcending
tongues untied by warm wine
wisdom of ancients descending
helped by fire, weed and vine
t'was ever thus, this song
immemorial riddles break
eternity's secrets told round
primordial old growth lake
all the wise elders wrestle
with universal mysteries waging
woodland papal enclave debate
acolytes take note from the aging
I was young by the lake
in paradise I called mine
I walked among giants once
upon a faraway long ago time
with an elder wise as a god
nattering on freely did we
never he'd shush nor shame
keep mum was only forbade me
demanding I ask my questions
treating them all with gravitas
no matter how trite or common
only foolish was the unasked.
unschooled yet wise past words
this trodder of untrodden way
hoping my markings please him
because of him they have their say
he was more than Irish charm
he'd charisma, gin and IT
entirely transparent with me
blarney with no bullshit
I've tried hard not to stray
to printer's black ink rhyme
all it gets us is hurt by
my endless jitterbug with time.
he passed so quietly it hurts
no footprints left by our sea
it's my job to share Opi's opus
to the jungling entrusted to me
I shall be the elder now
sitting shiva by our lake
holding court with my littles
in a perfectly Granda wake
I love you Grampa-Opi Kinney. Moja droga ja cię kocham.
Rest in peace.
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