Father's Gift

I've seen my father in my dreams and traveled to where, it seems, he is still composing verse and, happily, we converse. His poetry plays in my head. I wake, in haste, jump out of bed and quickly jot down what was said. My father is alive, not dead! He lives in all my poetry. He'll always be a part of me. No one can take away his light as long as I continue to write. November 30, 2018