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Old Boots You were the sweet pulsating life of my childhood with eyes as brown as tree bark You were the one I looked up to Dragging peacock feathers behind us to sweep the dust from our path We climbed hills waded streams our souls content Myths came into our lives like butterflies hatching bright and voracious with wings that flutter like magic in sky’s blanket You taught my mind to appreciate a man not one of ice nor thumbtacks but one who could laugh from the soles of his feet and melt my heart Your old work boots turned up at the toes and when you died I hugged them until my tears refused to drop Instead they gathered in my throat with a mighty grip You were and always will be my father |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2013-03-03 09:57:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hello Chey,
This is a yummy poem with all types of wonderful descriptions that crowd the mine in a flurry of rememberance of ones own relationships. Your father would have truly enjoyed this poem and would have felt so very honored. Easy flowing, captivating with a hint of mystery tickles the readers curiosity in a delightful way. Nothing to suggest, thanks for sharing. Lora