Still His

He used to sit outside

In the swing underneath the trees

An open invitation

Was always given

For me to sit beside him

On that double swing

We would talk about almost everything

Or nothing at all

I can still feel his hand

Resting on my knee

See the twinkle in his eyes

When I would join him outside

He used to sit on the couch

Facing the big picture window

In the fancy room of the house

Where the record player took center stage

And he could sit and think

I had an open invitation

To come sit down beside him

We would talk about almost everything

But not about the war

He said those were things he couldn’t explain

And that was it

I can still feel his strong hand resting on my knee

The way he looked at me

Made it perfectly clear

Exactly what he thought

It’s been a long time

Almost half my life

Since I’ve had an open invitation

A chance to sit and listen

To the man that raised me

But I still feel his hands

I still hear his voice

I still see those blue+gray eyes

And I’m still his.

For my beloved Daddy

Jeanna’ Mead

June 22 2020. 7 33 a.m

By jeannasoul

I'm a woman that is absolutely in love with life....I'm doing what I love to do-as a massage therapist,a writer,a seeker of all that touches my soul and lifts my body.
I find great pleasure in the midst of chaos, in time with nature and kindred spirits.
I love the wisdom and clarity of Paulo Coelho, the music that makes me dance, and being present with the person I'm with.
I write to fulfill my soul and, hopefully, to touch others.

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