Sitting in my favourite chair gazing into a fire of never-ending depth,
Long-gone thoughts appeared to me, which I did not know I'd kept.
A vision of a father as to pipers playing he and others marched to war,
Not knowing in that magic moment he would be gone for evermore.
Looking in a rear view mirror watching what's present becoming past,
Frightening shapes in childhood nightmares were difficult to outlast.
Barefoot down a gravel road, stones searching for a foot to bruise,
Ouch that hurt; now I know why I was told, 'Silly' wear some shoes.
Early autumn mushroom hunt; my bucket big, I eventually fill it,
Aromatic smell, butter coated mushrooms spit sizzling on the skillet.
Haymaking with an uncle on a farm at Summers Christmas break,
Sit behind an old draughthorse, plod on a field of hay to rake.
School bell rings, schoolkids sing our country's National Anthem,
Standing proud, singing loud, about these islands so grandsome.
Red-hot coals for heartfelt reasons conjure thoughts at random,
Deep-down memories of happy times are sorted from the flotsam.
So many fires seem to inspire these forgot reveries from experience,
Lay back again in that favourite chair, what's past will now commence.

Rod Morris

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fire-gazing/