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
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