Poem to My Father for Christmas When you come I want you to take my rod And all the tackle in the canvas bag. You pause as you settle to cast your mind Now that your days are drawn by memory And your words drift in a wavering voice Which struggles against the current of thought As you ask me to remind you of this time Knowing that you may not remember The words which float from the ledge of your self Beyond the horizon where Voyager rests As if I could ever forget those days When you clambered ahead…