Entering Father's Dojo Poem by james watkin
Entering Father's Dojo
A narrow walk through dusk
Of the soot-and-gloss hedge *.
At its end, softly lit
The Bushido spirit.
Atop a pipe of length
As for a sensei fit!
...and grim; iron-keyed, and willed!
Severe samarai types
A bowed - through procession!
For what slammed behind on
Air's medieval weight
Is still borne like a gong.
*Escallonia
Friday, January 4, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: father,memory
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5/5/2024 10:52:39 AM # 1.0.0.1119
