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Posts Tagged ‘Dad’

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On Sundays we’d drive

to the cemetery,

just me and Dad.

He’d talk softly

to his departed son

and arrange fresh flowers

on the grave.

Then standing tall,

he’d blow his nose

and tell me it was time

to put some miles on the car,

and we’d head east

for the country roads

where he’d point his corn cob pipe

at the tiny farms

and talk about Oklahoma,

then sing a chorus

of “The Strawberry Roan”.

Sometimes we’d pull over, and

he’d sniff the air and smile –

and then we’d turn around

and head for home.

.

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(c) 1992, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_yfmKMK4mo

 

 

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..

It was a long, silent fall

into the days

where “Dad” was spoken

in past tense.

He was tall

like autumn shadows

and he made us laugh

like the dancing, crackled leaves

around our feet.

And he would fast remind us

that trees return

to green

in this orbit’s gentle whirling

when spring gives back again.

.

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(C) 1997, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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9.13.56 Abe Hayes

 

Dad and me 1955

1955 – Deception Pass, Whidbey Island, Washington State

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(A tribute to my dad, who passed away twenty years ago this month.

My apologies to those who have read it previously.)

 

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for Dad  (1915 – 1997)

 .

It’s a long, silent fall

into the days where Dad

is spoken in past tense.

He was tall

like autumn shadows –

he made us laugh

like the dancing, crackled leaves

around our feet.

And he would fast remind us

that trees return

to green

in this orbit’s gentle whirling

when spring gives back again.

.

(C) 1997, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

 

1955

 

 

 

 

 

 

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for Dad  (1915 – 1997)

 .

It’s a long, silent fall

into the days where Dad

is spoken in past tense.

He was tall

like autumn shadows –

he made us laugh

like the dancing, crackled leaves

around our feet.

And he would fast remind us

that trees return

to green

1955

in this orbit’s gentle whirling

when spring gives back again.

.

(c) 1997, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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