I remember my dad playing
his guitar serenading moon
his unending ballads roam
depth of hills thru valleys
he walk across those ridges
a midnight horseless cowboy
his son writes quietly alone
I have a speck of pride telling
this story, he was so good to me
I am his lone audience; sleepy
my young mind could have noted
all those songs; never repeated
it was all new; a new creation
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