The Final Season

The Final Season


What a pleasure, such solace to reflect upon that first season, the springtime of my life;

Memory's so precious to the soul, what a treasure to behold, so simple the childhood pleasure, no pain, no strife.

Yet, with regret, some child hood memory's dampened this springtime bliss, memory's burst forward so sad;

For not one memory of I love you, there was no hug's and kisses from Mom and Dad.

Yet a kind grandmother's love and a Children's home push those memories and the sadness away;

For how blessed was I, for 73 brothers and sisters at Kappa Sigma Pi, what joy what gladness, in the Spring Sunshine, how we did play.

Ah the summertime, when life and health found me at my prime, what wonderful memories I wish to share;

A successful business and career, Respected and praises of genius fell to the ear, wealth, How could I have a care?

Yet a family was set aside, just for self with an unbreakable pride, forward I marched as the summer's sun beat down.

Forgive me my first love and my only daughter, you needed a husband and father, yet I and life only handed you a Clown.

But their forgiveness has given way to bittersweet memories that summer season that flood's the recess of my mind.

A child's happy glee as she bounces upon a father's knee, a beautiful bride,and friends so many that stood by my side, memories over and over I rewind.

Yet gone the summer and Fall it's time is but a day;

For a failing, beating heart has brought forth the winter, and to my God that hears me pray.

Bless and comfort my Grandchildren, my Family Oh Lord, and those nameless ones of the past;

Bless the Church and friends that left my side, Know that I forgive you; can this be my final task?

For gone is the sun, I hear the howling wind as winter makes it final stand,

The hour I know not when I cease as a man.

Does not a rebirth await me, in not the souls of my Grandchildren will I not live on? Is the battle of life finally won?

Thank you God for this vapor, this moment, this breath, and a promise by your only son.

For even as the winter evening lingers and the cold wind doth blow whispering a promise so true;

For in my Fathers house there are many Mansions, I go to prepare a place for you.


Author Harold E Heater Jr.