The Storm on the Hill

I have been wanting to post this lovely poem by my wife Ann for quite some time and am only now getting to it. It will be three years this December that she lost her dad and this poem is a remembrence of him. I think it’s great and I wish she would write more.

Oh the things that I see
when I look through his eyes.
The storm rolling through
the bruised, tumbling skies.

The rays shooting through
small breaks in the clouds.
The tumbleweed rolling and
the dust devils proud.

The skies darken quickly,
he tells me to go.
Go in where it’s safe
He says, “I just don’t know.”

But could anywhere else
be as safe as this place,
here standing with daddy,
a smile on my face?

I tell him this, sweetly,
“I’ll go when you go.”
He looks at me wondering
what four year olds know

Taking my hand we just
stand there so still.
Standing together with
the storm on the hill.


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