Dad
The tarnished brass whistle lies in the corner as a testament that he was here...
Fading memories float like transparent leaves...
As I pass the mirror he sometimes glances at me only for a moment...
He is alive in my walk...
In the small nuances...
In the summer breeze...
In my aging heart...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment