I remember dinosaurs of glass

Filled up with multi-colored sand.

And our tradition, long revered.

Bringing you pine cones twice a year.

And learning to read in simple steps.

Your patience rooted in the farthest depths

Of love. Of innocence. Of Grace.

And how you lifted us.

How you held us down.

How you managed to sweep the pain from your face

And turn that wheel to save your life

When the great demon inside you was driving you over

The wall, and would have seen you die.

You taught us not to just listen to voices

But to seek out for ourselves the veins of proof.

You told us the one who makes the most noise

Is not always the bearer of truth.

That killing is wrong, and defense is honor

A man is not judged by the sins of his father,

But that a man’s greatest duty lies in leading his son,

And the task of his life is to guide his daughter.

You showed me the virtue of craft by the hand

Each night at the table with wood, glue, and sand.

And because of your patience, now I too command

A process of creation only we can understand,

Taught each night at the table with wood, glue, and sand.