PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My eyes follow the ebb of the silver canoe
which dances and makes a swish as
it hits the river bank
My father lets me lead the way, between the
icebergs, the rocks of almighty doom
I am trying to win his confidence
We camp on a hill above the water
I lose a paddle
My father, dives in to retrieve it
he goes under
we wait
and he arises, my hero

We catch our dinner,
12 small bass
and feast like kings
We lie down in the night
Its arms so warm, so tender

My father, now, is a crippled man
No longer a lion
Maybe some small wounded animal that
feeds the wolf or
scurried away to dream