I remember, up so high on Daddy's shoulders,
Apples hanging near my eye, the leaves around my head.
Reaching up his hand plucked the shiny apple red
And placed it in my tiny hands.

Then onward through the park, sun and shadow,
Rippled light and dark across his path.
Stopping, stooping, his hand, my eyes to guide,
Pointed to a daisy at his feet. He held it to my nose
To sniff the flower scented sweet, and lo, before he rose again,
A yellow-golden butterfly paused a moment to sip honey from its center sun.
Dad held it still and I beheld the slender straw in which the necter filled
To satisfy that butterfly.

Dad moved, I on his back, and crossed the track
Where trains once rolled through mists before the rising sun.
Now to the sea- Stretching to infinity beyond the curve of appled glen.
Dad leaned- And I in that mirror there, reflected golden hair, in blue.
I laughed, he smiled. Into the air I rose safe in his arms
Then down to grassy shore to play some more.

We loved a lifetime in those few years,
Or so my Mother said. But now-
Dad's dead.

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