Pretending to Sleep though I am awake, My Dad lifts me up Though my Slumber’s fake, I love his careful Tenderness, the arms

, In which I’m cradled, Protect me from harm. Though his shoes are large, I will try them on. They hold the arches Of my father’s form. A doctor’s child, a great grandfather Evon, a mildmannered gentler man. A poem is a Hand Tender-hearted Psalm Or from the Heart’s Land Becomes a Pilgrim. Evon is a Lamb, A Powerful Lord His daughter I am Who became a Sword.

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful