The poet wrote this short and simple vision of his Father, who is still with us at 83, a few years ago when he smelled burning leaves and flashed to his younger years, helping his Dad with yard work. A Father's Day poem for all. By his own accounts his Father was and is so personable that every date he ever brought home to meet his family would comment on how lovable and nice he was.
Autumnal memory
the smell of burning leaves
always reminds me of my father.
a good man. honest and kind.
all my girlfriends who ever met him
fell in love with him.
but I saw him first.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Autumnal Memory
Labels: 1998, father's day 0 observations
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