This Man

He sits at the foot of my bed

His words a river

Filling the empty lake

Of his daughter’s soul.

Those days when my spine quivers,

He becomes the mountain at my back.

When I worry myself into a knot,

He is the quiet evening soothing me.

On my worst days, he is

Laurel & Hardy and Abbot & Costello.

On days when my hope lags,

he shows me his, a wildflower

hiding under the leaves.

Why use so many words

When one will do?

Father.