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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2188602
poem to my Dad
The wind runs its tendril fingers through my hair
and presses its chilled lips upon my cheeks.
I close my eyes and pretend it's him,
squeezing me tight and whispering
it's going to be all right,
that I can make it through another day.
A single tear traces a
cool track down my face
and lands with a soft splotch.
The mountains are synonymous with him.
There was never one without the other.
I stand, dusting grainy dirt from my jeans.
"Give her a hug for me," I whisper
and know the words are carried to heaven on the breeze.
© Copyright 2019 J. H. Schmidt (goofyj at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2188602