Michael GordonHICKA decade has gone since we lost you, Dad. Ten years since you've been here. Ten Winters so cold that we have had, ten Christmastides of cheer. Ten Springs so fiercely greeted, with gusts of winds and showers. Ten Summers with the soil now heated in the meadows of long grass and flowers. Ten harvests with thankful dances for the hay and the straw and the corn. Ten Autumns of emptying branches through the sun's golden rays at morn. The circle of seasons recommences, though ten years have come and gone. But in past, present and future tenses, our love for you, Dad, carries on. With our love, Margaret, Angie and Jennie
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