The Last Ember

I remember the nights

Spent at grandfather’s side.

When the moon hides,

And the evening star evades

No vision I can see,

Like deep in the blue sea.

“A perfect night for a tale”, he would say.

As we all stared his way,

Waiting expectantly for his tale,

He would always surely tell.

He would then begin to speak,

With his aged voice thick.

A tale I remember,

The last Ember.

It was a tale of two who met by chance,

On a cold winter night in France.

This was the beginning of this epic tale of two,

Who went far and travelled between worlds too.

The greatest adventurers,

Who together spent many great ventures.

None dared to try,

But the daring two always had the drive.

Always having a great ride,

While escaping the tide.

Best of friends forever, separated they could never be,

And hot on their tail was time’s ever flowing glee.

They accomplished all through time’s last shining rays,

Now they sit on their rocking chairs by the blazing hearth, old with age on cold days.

They speak and laugh while on memory lane’s road to remembrance,

Their good old days of rampage up until the death of the last ember.

Grandfather laughed as he said that last part,

“I have always loved their lives path.”

That he would always say at every story’s end,

While on the tale, our minds remain bent.

Our dreams later take us on a tale after the tale,

And when we wake, grandfather we would tell.

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