My Father’s Daughter

Under the clear dark sky on top of the summit,

I looked for the polestar to guide me.

In the early morning mist undulating through the valley,

I heard your voice gently calling me.

Quiet,

quieter still,

‘my daughter,

come.’

I breathed in the cool morning air,

finished the last drop of my tea.

I felt the warm blood pumping through my veins,

and knew the red dragon awakened.

I put out the fire but the carried the flint with me.

With bergen on my back and boots tightened up,

I was ready to roam these mountains again.

I remembered to water Myrddin’s tree

and dust the round table.

I walked by Dylan’s house the other day,

he was there no longer but left me his pen.

On my travels,

I picked up a sword, a book of spells and a rock for a resolution.

I left a trail of memories.

a lump of charcoal, a copper cup, and a few lines of poetry.

Goodnight father,

wherever you are.

You are where I wished to go,

and I am where you used to be.

But neither of us,

no longer.

Yet both

where we supposed to be.