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For My Father

I think we're both edged with sky,

Daddy and I.

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We sometimes float above the literal,

Wearing daydreams,

Getting lost on the streets of our own town;

Feet won't reach the ground.

And yet the snow is danced upon:

Two twisting trails;

(Perhaps the tracks of dashing clowns

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Finding flowers!)

Beneath the white blanket of wintry words

Our seeding silence grows.

My roots have to travel deep

To meet with his

In the heart's soft underground.

We understand....