#2127-Dad

Strolling about town,

A small blooming branch,

Carried me back,

To a dormant past.

Warm, early spring days,

When in old age,

He planted trees,

Humming songs,

With the gentle breeze.

Now he is elsewhere,

Watching his garden grow,

Unperturbed and at peace,

With a world he once knew,

And can still see.