My Father was a world leader and the best
Damned hobo...
He loved butterflies.
My Father was a world-renowned politician.
Then his favorite neighborhood bar
Closed down.
He sat...turning his old, gnarled hands
Over and over
In his lap.
He knew things about water...the ways of
Small, innocent creatures.
He knew the healing properties of
Death...
Death knitted his arteries back together.
Death periodically dropped in to check
On his heart...then
Death stopped.
Should I show you my Father's hands
When I return?
Should I bring you his knowledge of
Dolphins and butterflies?
Should I return with smiles...emeralds
Of the water?
Should I return?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I was about to write 'absolutely beautiful' when I saw that MM had already done so. You have a phenomenal gift for stunning images woven into free open - weave tapestries.