The hammer hits the gong
when the hands point at twelve
on the clock of the old.
He sits near the fireplace
where the fire itself lost the spirit,
holding a crystal glass
with whiskey floating, the ice cubes clinking,
and a tear rolling down the cheek
when his head turns towards a couch.
There, he sees the shadow
holding up the glass for a toast,
like someone who once
held the glass the same way
and left shattering memories of the past.
Now, he raises it with a smile,
filled with the sorrow of the present
and the happiness of the past.
From father to daughter,
"Adios amigo" to the photo
by the window pane