On the bottom, was I- natures earth girl
spinning, dancing, loving the breeze twirl
cotton gown, teasing my legs
softly I giggle, gathering Easter eggs.
I'd look to my Father, tall and so strong
this I knew, is where I belong
I was his daughter and he was my Dad
now he sits in silence, making me sad.
Forgetting my name, but knowing my face
falling to the floor at such a fast pace,
breaking bones and losing weight
his birthday approaching, but he forgets the date.
My Fathers a rhymer, a writer, and a pro
his pen has lost its ink, and he doesn't even know.
I write for him daily in free verse and form
but I try to rhyme, to weather the storm.
I'll read this to him, dedicate to his soul
uplifting his spirits is my only goal,
he'll smile and say that's nice - who wrote it?
remind him again, "Your Daughter"; the poet.
He wrote a poem called "My Big Fight" and others about earth
but now he forgets his true, loving worth
his grey beard is thinning as his smile fades to frown
losing his "Fight" and its taken him down.
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In honor of my Father and his poem
"My Big Fight"
