Tolkien and His Son, Asleep

How often I have slept like this,
Snuggled up against my son,
Or as a frightened child, I’d lie,
In the bend of my father’s arm.

Whatever stories you shared with us,
Bright and bold as any ever,
Nothing you did was better than,
Investing in those living treasures.

And all the glories that you gave,
Are richer for the giving there,
At home you broke out beams of light,
Then shared the shards out everywhere.

I am grateful to see this nap,
This serene escape from a world of bother,
Reminds me that, though master scribe,
You might have been a better father.

So, if I could be like you and have,
Just one quality for acquisition.
From all your gifts, it would be this,
‘A good father,’ is my high ambition.

The Forge, Grandview, WV