Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.140.184.21

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

I remember I was a little girl
sent off on an errand by my dad
surrounded by a small group of men
marveling at the questions I answered well
their surprise subsiding when they heard
the tax collector was my great grand dad.
He was an actor, merchant, ran a bank 
a poet and  play writer as well
on stage wore a suit made of shells
to announce his entrance with a laugh.
A generous, good looking man
when he died, my dad was maybe ten
at his funeral in hundreds they went
to honor their tax collector friend.
It was a village of grand street lamps
individually lit by hand
women carried burdens on their heads
skirts to their ankles and in black
to honor the memory of their dead.
Grapes were stampede, olives pressed
wheat shafts were gathered by hand
stone ground and slowly turned to bread.
The houses were unlocked and people slept 
for each person knew the other well
the only new in town were the birds
The book that he composed I never read
it was lost to be never found again.
I inherited his spirit as they said
and for that I feel humbled and glad
A saying repeated by my dad   
to chase away fears and give strength 
probably invented by his grand dad
that I like to immortalize with a pen: 
Make yourself a lamb and the wolf will eat you.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required