Untitled about my Father

I walked along the shore,

Thunderous crashing of surf,

against the rocky cliffs below,

Cold wet spray of water

against my face,

Salty smell of the mighty Atlantic

burning in my nose.

Out over the water

I could see the proud ships

of my homeland’s navy

Coursing through the waves.

I sat upon a rock

and thought a while,

Remembering times

when I was quite young

And my father brought me here.

I miss my father.

We were great friends,

He and I.

We still speak,

every few weeks.

I drive the many hours,

Once or twice a year,

to see him,

hoping to recapture that something

That doesn’t seem

to still be there.

L.

10/4/95