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Pine Tree Lucidity


Dad says his favorite dream place
is beneath his old pine tree.
While leaning back against the bark,
he hears wind symphonies.

I watch him from the window-
his eyes closed, his face serene.
His life-worn shoulders rounded,
rough hands resting near his knees.

There's a secret in his stillness,
a something, I can't see;
I know my Dad is somewhere else,
not underneath this tree.

He's off in his own dreamland
wherever that may be.

And I fear this spot I stand on
while I watch him fly away,
is going to be my pine tree
on a none too distant day.

Where I'll sit and close my eyes,
strive to keep my face serene
and see the one no longer there-

from this,
my place to dream.

in loving memory of my Dad.

Image by Robert Balog from Pixabay


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