A Father’s Love

Born reaching,
Always just beyond;
A shore too long,
A sky too tall —
A warm day, and
An aftershave,
And hours 
Just before the fall

And here am I,
And there am I:
The sea-salt wind
That blurs my eye —
What does it mean
The distant ones,
Come down in love
To help us fly?

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

Leave a Reply