Longing in lowly light of longer days
by which a summer wilts paternal dreams
and browns the loitered heaves of yellow spring:
the budding void that stamps an empty swing
seen swaying golden locks ungated beams
my own Begotten streamed in greener dawn
where fussy forums for an April fawn
allay no muttered march on mother’s May.
Persistent blades unsheathe the sprawling grass
beneath the blue release of silver dew -
an inch overgrown, as inch shrouded cool
billows: arisen reeds from dizzied drool
showing flashes of reincarnation
cured by the rose (or purple carnation)
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2017
I’d write a rhyme to prove my depth of love
Or sing angelic song like those above
If gifts like these would prove love’s testament
I’d give and give to prove deep sentiment
But what to you, my Father, can I give?
The one who taught me how to love and live
What can I give you from this daughter’s heart?
But vow that from your side I’ll never part
You mean the world to me, this you must know
With passing years my love for you does grow
Your care for me is what helps see me through
There is no other father sweet like you
May Jesus grant you health and happiness
This birthday wish I wrap in tenderness
Eileen Manassian Ghali
My daddy dearest turns 78 today...78! Where did all the years go??? My father is a pastor, an educator, and writer, but most of all, he is the best father in all the world. Yes, my My father has always been a very central figure in my life. I couldn't have hoped for a better dad. We've been close through the years, and I know that he is always there to catch me when I fall. Isn't that, after all, what our heavenly Father is like? I so love and adore my dad. If you'd like to "see" him, you can check my photos on my page here. :)
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
Still the Worst Job Ever
How do I hold thee, let me count the ways.
I hold thee trembling, beneath kitchen sinks
crouched in the darkness of the brightest days
guiding thy beam as his patience shrinks.
I hold thee dulled by lightning’s fearsome flash
shakily awaiting unseen anger
tortured by the inevitable crash
intrigued by the neediness of danger.
I hold thee wide eyed in dirt-floored cellar
your flame slow flickering on edge of sight
dimming through the range of yellowed color
draining the darkness from a darkened night.
I hold thee, for my brothers all have fled
I hold thee, not knowing what they dread.
Submitted for - Sara Kendrick - Jobs – Poetry Contest
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014
The pool grows green through the leaf cover.
Large pears hang upon ancient tree.
Mocking Bird sings chanting to his lover;
As the dew sparkles, like water in the sea.
Crepe Myrtle has turned red how time has passed.
Moma admired some trees said they were pretty.
Daddy dug up a few runners, oh! memories from past.
In most things, think of daddy how witty__
Daddy brought (them) here to brighten moma's life
To give her something pretty to enjoy.
Today I enjoy them, this is reallife.
Now as I look at them they are my buoy
Clouds are coming in hiding the sun rays
But their light and life brightens my days_
For Nancy's contest;
Contest name: Gratitude
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
How strangely life will turn around, reverse, then come again
I remember how he would tiptoe in, from a warm and downy bed
He’d wink at me, then beckon me, while twinkling stars peeked in
In kitchen light, a bite to eat, a midnight snack, he said
I would pour the milk, and he would smile, then carefully tear the bread
The staff of life, a simple thing, these two small bowls of wheat
My Dad and I, the broken bread, with milk on top, or cream instead
A bit of sugar or honey dripped, to make it slightly sweet
Such a little thing, so comforting, and helped us both to sleep
And in my care, his dwindling years…especially at the end
He was fading then, no appetite, few foods that he could eat
Soft bread I’d make, with milk poured in, would help us think of then
I’d sit upon his bed and talk, and help him spoon some in
The things in life turn inside out, somehow come back again
For the Contest: Sponsored By Regina Riddle "Intimate Relationships"
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
Inspired by; Constance La France’s Native American Portrait
Nikan is a man who once stood proud and true all across this land
in symbiotic relation with nature endowed by the great creators hand
passed onto him by his ancestors to never take more than his fair share
and always be kind to this land for it’s the Mother to all whom she shall bare
When times are lean we all will grow thin together for together we are one
with one voice to sing in harmony for bountiful harvest to our Father the Sun
and give him thanks and praise for warming and making fertile our Mother
who blessed new life into the birthing seasons for every Sister and Brother
Great spirit hear my song of hope that I sing for my people who will cry
we are mighty on the earth give us protection or your children they will die
and our people’s blood will flow upon our Mother like deep rivers of raging red
O’ Father I can see no solution will you spare us from the white mans dread
I could never make claim to imagine this great man’s woeful sorry or despair
Nikan's song is a lonely tune played for the spirit of his people upon the air.
Nikan traslation from the Potawatomi "MY Friend"
Baamaapii Nikan.......until we meet again my friend
Copyright © Edwin Baldwin | Year Posted 2011
Sitting under the pale pink running rose
At the end of a beautiful Autumn Day
Searching for inspirational sonnet to compose
For my love who lives in heaven's way
To me He's like a honeysuckle vine
Blooming in the month of May
Sweetly fragrant essence among the pines
He's like the gold of mountains that's refine
To me He's like the babbling brook
Sweetly singing in tune
For everything in heaven He forsook
Fo prove His love for me is beyond the moon
Words cannot describe my love for Him
But daily I'll try to draw close in His realm
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009
In nights, in stillness those small hours
The clock’s quick hands caress me more
Than I can remember yours
Once held me close so long before
I am no lamb but still think: slaughter
Is what this is, and in despair
I turn to stone, my soul to water
You were so much, but never fair
I count the myriad smithereens
You left floating in the moonlight
Feeling in transit, Bedouin
Nowhere at home, fearing daylight
Your warm heart was a home to me
It’s cold now, lacks humanity
April 12, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
No saints amongst us write a father’s song,
He writes his own which claims no innocence,
As tones of sadness urge he move along,
His pen now takes the stand in his defense;
Atop the desk where sit respondent’s words,
Are pictures taken of his darling girls;
For them he’d fight an army full of swords,
And let none question love's resplendent pearls.
Though flawed imperfect flesh is worn as own,
And lonely eyes are often blind by mist,
He states emphatic that he’s never thrown,
Not once in life an angry violent fist.
May all now know forevermore this claim –
I’ll fight ‘til death for they that share my name.
Phillip M. Garcia, Respondent
Father of Ava Elise Garcia
Father of Lily Belle Garcia
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016
On morning-time drives, my daughter and I,
Would sing along songs which rarely were heard,
That music was playing seems to defy,
My recollection of photographs blurred;
Vividly now, still I see Ava there,
Rockin’ like Bono with snaggle-tooth grins,
Smilin’ at daddy from her special chair,
Laughter erupting as answers to questions;
Yet, somewhere near where my health went astray,
Were magical moments stolen from us,
Now only silence do memories play,
While tearful sonnets are written as thus;
So to my daughter, I say with all love,
Let’s sing again soon, my morning-time dove.
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016
The Lumberjack's Hard Days Of Toil
Salty sweat, from deep axe strokes to lean hands
heavy cotton shirt soaked, mark of the man.
Lumberjack, strong, cut of a different breed
hard at toil, to fulfill his family's need.
With each hard day's task, his heart grew stronger
morn to night, his time away seemed longer.
Wife and children, rarely got to see dear dad
yet all knew his sweet love and were truly glad.
As his axe bit into hardest of trees
mother sat at home shelling garden peas.
Each one doing family duties and chores
living sweet melodies of musical scores.
Work done, rushed he, to family to rejoice
duty performed with honor and by free choice.
Sept. 16th , 1996
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 11 11 0 10 10 11 11 0 10 10 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 148
Total # Words: 112
Note: My father started out as a lumberjack, back in the day when so much was done by strong hands and not ease of machines! To be a lumberjack back then meant that you were a strong man and willing to work hard.
Both are strong and positive attributes.
My Dad, later after several years decided to use his brains more and his arms less.. I remember he saying often, "Son use whichever you think best, strength or brains but regardless the free choice made -do so honestly, fairly and with honor!
This poem, is dedicated to that man, the guy that saw honor in hard labor and
in using intelligence to garner a brighter and better future.
I have cut trees, carried and sawed logs, and split wood as a boy on the farm.
TRUST ME, IT IS HARD BACK BREAKING WORK.. but it also yields positive dividends and builds good character in a man.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
An April morning, as the climbing sun
tipped up in sight, and lit the coming day
and colored red, after a storm was done,
I cast my plug, a stinger--red and gray--
to where it looked the likely place to me,
where hides the hog--from minnows swimming by;
then feeds upon those minnows, carelessly,
as pops the sun into the morning sky.
Upon the water, mirrored flat and still,
I raise the wake, so slight--then let it lay;
and cranking in, so slowly then until
I hear the chomp--that warns he's set to play!
And all the minnows cheer me in my quest
of battle with my most unwilling guest!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014
You are the salt of the earth;
Farmer, we say that to you;
You are hardworking and true;
We recognize your worth.
To the crop you give birth,
The soil, you subdue,
Cornstalks break through,
to avert famine and dearth.
But where is your son?
He’s not learning how.
He won’t be outdone—
living the life of high brow,
He forfeits work in the sun,
renounces his seed and the plow.
Copyright © Kim Bond | Year Posted 2014
When you miss a child,
Of your very own,
That is your flesh and blood,
You begin to wonder,
Where did you go wrong,
In your own life,
Instead of looking,
At the beautiful life,
This you must remember,
So many of the difficult times,
Cause of the times you did share together,
For your children will remember more,
Than you really want to give them credit for,
And they will always remember you,
As their loving parent,
For loving them so much,
More than you will ever know,
And you will never forget them,
Just as you hope,
You will never be forgotten,
From their lives,
Copyright © John Hembree | Year Posted 2013
busy shadows follow him on his route
eyes collecting people dressed in a suite
every sweat filled day he tells his story
his love’s labor for family glory
in his job syringe needles are not strange
trash piles giving us a life in exchange
pill boxes color putrid plastic bags
torn and ejected body’s broken rags
we must remove what life has rejected
for families we mend lives affected
we endure when families are in need
much more than just our families to feed
we deliver no matter the day’s length
families depend on their father’s strength
Copyright © Just James | Year Posted 2016
A child's beauty contest I watched in such awe;
young girl in a wheelchair to her father, his all.
Escorting her on stage with such grace and pride;
each so blessed to be at the others' side.
A fragile princess in a purple pageant dress;
twirling her first in her chair then lifting her to his chest.
Their dance so inspiring; such an enchanting sight;
so gently he lifted her high up to the sky.
Sparkling, bright eyes and the most beautiful smile;
none deserving of a crown more than this precious child.
An imperfect body, viewed as a gift from above;
her beauty matched only by a father's boundless love.
Beauty in my eyes is not found in perfection;
but in acceptance, uniqueness, love and dedication.
June 29, 2014
Contest: Encore-anonymous positive new sonnet
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014
On hands and knees brown leaves were brushed away
My fingers traced his name engraved in stone
The birds remind me how the years have flown
As tears of shame and guilt fell where he lay
My mind looked in my heart for words to say
"You are the wisest man I've ever known
Before your death our conflicts were atoned
But void inside my heart has not decayed
I taught my children values which we shared
And looked after my mother like you asked
The pain I caused you still makes me feel sad
I just want you to know that I still care
My love for you still lives though you have passed
If you can hear me now, I miss you dad."
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016
Which love is not a struggle to the mind?
'tis easier to think love glides along,
regardless of a road not there to find,
or never caring what is right or wrong.
One love, of child, a father's steady hand,
protecting innocence, through many years
as if he knew the way, and had it planned,
to heal each mortal wound as it appears.
As if all things begin with his okay,
the good, the joy of life to build upon;
demanding right, and hoping in some way
he's always with you, even when he's gone.
The banged up knee, your losing of a friend,
are yours to feel, but his to comprehend.
© RON WILSON AKA VEE BDOSA
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013
You are a unique flower
This is how I keep you
In my heart forever
Until the sunset waves goodbye
You dwell now in the heart of Jesus Christ
Since with your strongest faith and blissful honor
You pleased our Lord, Jesus Christ, who
Visited your humble radiant home
In the middle of a calm night
And hugged your ardent soul
With an eternal blessing..
Your beautiful memory, my father, and
Your beautiful poetry will linger
Over Palestinian heights, your homeland,
And shine passionately forever.
This poetry was composed and translated to English and Spanish by his two daughters:
Suheila Zeidan and Nadia Shahwan in the memory of their father, Panayot Zeidan, who was
known as the poet of Palestine. He lived in Aruba for over twenty years working and
studying philosophy. He was a member in the Palestinian Book League, he worked as a
language teacher in addition to his small business as a merchant, and he composed
bounteous poetry that bloomed from his kernel with a great love for his country, Palestine.
Usted es una flor única,
esto es cómo mantenerle en mi corazón para siempre,
hasta que despide de la puesta del sol.
Usted detenerme ahora en el corazón de Jesucristo,
desde su fe más fuerte y dichosos honor;
complace nuestro Señor, Jesucristo,
que visitó su humilde casa radiante,
en medio de una noche tranquila
y abrazó a su alma ardiente
con una eterna blessing…
Su memoria hermosa, mi padre
y su poesía hermosa se
persistir en alturas de palestinas, su patria
y brillan apasionadamente para siempre.
Copyright © Nadia Shahwan | Year Posted 2009
The Good Shepherd
Christ is the True Shepherd
"Amen, amen, I say to you, whoever does not enter a sheepfold through the gate but climbs over elsewhere is a thief and a robber.
But whoever enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens it for him, and the sheep hear his voice, as he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.
When he has driven out all his own, he walks ahead of them, and the sheep follow him, because they recognize his voice.
But they will not follow a stranger; they will run away from him, because they do not recognize the voice of strangers."
So Jesus said again, "Amen, amen, I say to you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came (before me) are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate.
Whoever enters through me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.
A thief comes only to steal and slaughter and destroy; I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.
I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.
A hired man, who is not a shepherd and whose sheep are not his own, sees a wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away, and the wolf catches and scatters them.
This is because he works for pay and has no concern for the sheep.
I am the good shepherd, and I know mine and mine know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I will lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold.
These also I must lead, and they will hear my voice, and there will be one flock, one shepherd.
This is why the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own.
I have power to lay it down, and power to take it up again. This command I have received from my Father." (Taken from JN 10:1-5, 7-18)
The Unjust Steward
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011
I wonder what your thinking, in your country far away
And what on earth possesses you to threaten mine today
You allow your people to starve, munitions they are first
While daily people starve to death and many die of thirst
Your father and grandfather should have taught you how to care
Instead they shared their legacy of treating people unfair
Many live in work camps with three generations or more
Simply because they disagreed, so now all must chore
You live in style above the rest, have people who adore
But deep down, I believe that each person longs for more
You teach hatred and despise my country each and every day
For freedom and free choice would take yours away
Your people follow in fear, like robots in a line
I wonder how long they will conform or will it be your time
More and more try to escape, or die instead of live
In a country such as yours that takes much more than it gives
Each building,statue, memorial you have to tell a tale
Of twisted truths and travesties instead they often fail
For freedom is what's needed in the country you call home
Grow food instead of opium,and leave the people alone
You have the power in your hands to change what was past
Hurry please before it's too late you must do it fast
Do not start a war in which more people will die
Because your father and grandfather started it with a lie.
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013
Early Winter Farm Chores
Shall I muse at midnight on the morning sun
now hiding very far beyond the pale.
Dread farmyard chores needing to be done
as morn sun rises over hill and dale.
Warm in bed, staying would be a disgrace
when winter marches in far too soon.
Tarry late and hot glowing embers embrace
to rise late only in a lazy afternoon!
Or instead jump from this warm , soft bed
racing on out when red rooster crows.
Quickly getting pigs and chickens well fed
all long before the cold winter snows!
Up early before morning's sweet sunlight.
Another farming day, another long fight.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-01-2015
Note-- Edited an older poem from back in the 80's.
Shortened into a sonnet..
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
I come to Him each day that I awake
I ask Him that He keeps me safe from harm
I thank Him for all the things that I take,
For granted such as life without alarm
He's given me so much in this great life
He's healed me from so very many things
When I'm with Him I'm saved from so much strife
I sometimes feel as though I've angels wings
His love envelopes me as I draw near
He's taught me all the things that I have known
With Him I know of faith instead of fear
Each step that I'm with Him I've surely grown
The future that I have with Him is bright
The love that He gives me is my delight
An english sonnet which this is has 14 lines an ababcdcdefefgg end rhyme and is written in iambic pentameter which is 10 syllable line with a soft hard beat.
Copyright © Charles Reese | Year Posted 2014
An angry Father, that wore a frown
has watched the rise of the devil's moon
While pacing, he's worn the carpet down
They arrive at dawn, and none too soon!
Broken curfews, her virtue at stake
The stakes are high, but the daughter dared
Dad quickly plans a wedding date!
No explanation or sage to share
They are ushered in, without a sigh
Their vows would choke the most aloof
It clouds the starlight in their eyes,
and shoots the moon, un-bullet proofed!
This patriarch must take a stand
Holy wedlock was in high demand !
Submitted for "Trashed # 4" Contest: Sponsored by Broken Wings
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
And even after all that time had passed;
my moon had set above another sun,
it seems my heart was still at odds with past;
my tongue at war with words I left unsung.
This bed of ardor caught between my teeth,
will thus remain, and even grow post haste,
where all the while, there's nothing I'll bequeath
excepting flowers scent, above my waste.
And so it goes with every vacant beast,
as twenty-twenty sees - I should have done!
I should have said; I should have been, at least
a man awake to seed his endless sun.
And as the night descends upon my thought,
remember son these words that, I lived not.
© Kristin Reynolds 3 11 09
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009
C_ Characteristic traits are genetic
H_ He inherited being compassionate
A_ A mouth he had, used language so graphic
R_ Ruff mix vulgarity and passionate
A_ At desperate time in his troubled life
C- Contact with the Savior opened his eyes
T_ Touched by the loving Father eased his strife
E_ Eternally changed became very wise
R_ Raised from the common became angelic
I_ Intellect possessed beyond his learning
S_ Studied God's word to levels to be drastic
T_ Time on earth extended God's rewarding
I_ Inherited characteristic grand
C_ Coupled with Holy Spirit makes man
Contest name:As You Like It
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
Fr. Christ said “I am the living bread that came down from heaven...
If anyone eats this bread
He will live forever
Who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, abides in Me and I in him"
Essential signs of Eucharistic Sacrament are wheat bread and grape wine
Communion with the Body and Blood of Fr. Christ increases the communicant’s union
with the Lord God.
Receiving this sacrament strengthens the bonds of charity between the communicant and Fr. Christ
It also reinforces the unity of the Church as the mystical Body of Fr. Christ
The Church recommends the faithful to receive the Holy Communion at least once a year.
Fr. Christ Himself is present in the sacrament of the altar
He is to be honored with the worship adoration
To visit the Blessed Sacrament is a proof of gratitude
Expression of love
Duty of adoration toward Fr. Christ, Jesus our Lord
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2012
Ghostly apparition in light night sky
The moon becomes a fierce dragon's big eye
Dragon flows outward fills southern sky high
Great awesome fierceness goes before it _sigh
Happenings as such are very eerie
Feeling my father's presence at his death
(Something that cannot be explained_ really)
Had this calming effect in just one breath
Carried him to hospital ill that morning
Never knew that today would be the day
Death would carry him away _no warning
Died in surgery_ spirit would not stay
As he left his humble earthly abode
His Eternal Spirit touched my soul
(When my father died, I had not been
told that he was dead but suddenly
I knew just an internal thing..I felt him
brush against me as he went by..)
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
WE'LL NOT TO MARRY
'Twas winning out again, the devil, biting, clear of gin,
this house of Usher had no end in sight,
upstairs, her hair so vibrant, fine and thin,
loosed to her pillow, waiting through the torrid night,
his flesh and very blood, who loved to feel his weight and thighs,
who's made of him the sin, she calls him, now and then,
the truth of it, the pleading from her eyes,
if no one knows, how can our love become a sin?
"We'll not to marry, father dear," she told him from the first,
"Though dead, my mother's heart still beats alive in me,
does not the pill. give us means to stop the worst?
And watch me, now I swallow it, so you can see."
Up through the moonlit hall, his breath contained, deep in his chest,
he made no sound, but heard she every step he took,
and bared she all her mother's heart and breast,
to welcome him to come and read her opened book.
"We'll not to marry, father dear," she told him one more time,
so he could do the very best in pleasing her,
and in the joy of night, forgotten was the crime,
as madness claimed the both of them, right where they were.
© Vee Bdosa
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2016
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!
"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!
The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
and on his heels--I made my promise good!
We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013