My poet pa

last night at a function
I saw a man
his thinker's forehead and silver hair
got me thinking about my dad again

this afternoon, I saw him sitting
the old dead poet with his hand on his chin

the wind chimes tinkle softly
comforting in the light wind

he talks to me and says

Nokkie, my old bokkie
I understand
you are a poet's child
it's from me
it comes from there
and I pass my parcel on

to you