Dad’s Gifts
Dad gave me the crunch of dry autumn leaves,
the aroma of honeysuckle summer nights,
nighthawk booms and bullfrog “knee-deeps.
He gave me numb toes and a pounding heart
on winter deer stands when the dogs were singing,
and tranquility on ponds lit by first light.
He led me through Georgia swamp slosh
and up hills bristling with briers.
Watch out for snakes, he would say.
Good memories. Thanks, Dad
— Richard Stokes
The Capital City Weekly accepts submissions of poetry, fiction and nonfiction for Writers’ Weir. To submit a piece for consideration, email us at editor@capweek.com.
