June 6th of '82;
that's the day that I lost you.
My rock and mentor, perfect dad,
best influence that I had.
But your spirit lingers on,
out of sight, but never "gone."
I feel you on Recital Day,
watching as my students play.
Every birthday, you I see
with gifts bestowed, meant just for me.
I see you in my mirror, too,
our eyes that change from gray to blue.
And then, of course, there's that huge perk:
close parking spots without hard work.
Because I feel you, I still strive
to be like you and have your drive.
Your body is gone, but this is no sham:
your spirit tells all just whose daughter I am.
|
| Writing Prompt |
Please write a rhyming poem about a spiritual subject. Please rhyme at least every other line. |
Author Notes
My father, Bill Saxman, had THE most uncanny knack, when he was behind the wheel, for ALWAYS--no matter where we were or how busy the location--getting THE closest parking spot! Once, we were in D.C. --during Spring Break, no less!-- and just as we pulled in front of the Smithsonian, our destination that day, a car pulled out exactly in front of it! When he died, I "inherited" that knack. Just last Saturday, for instance, my college roommate and I were in Lake George, a wildly popular and popuLATED tourist town, and I got a parking spot right on the main drag in the middle of town. My friend and I both looked skyward and said, "Thanks, Bill!!"
|
|
