From the Top as August Ensues

My father taught me to plant and smell flowers,
he taught me to count the different kinds of birds,
All his stories passed through my ears I heard his words,
And those words he played with us in games of
cross and board, teaching us his subtle craft of play
even ancient etymology.

For this I am grateful, maybe fits and moments of anger are forgotten.
Inside us all lives fire and grace and a combination therein.
The human inside of us knowing his roots and his future
held in divine's sight contemplation, fingertips together you feel
the beat.

Feet on the street blisters on the toes how many more
oars will I go through to get down these rapids.
I will find the golden valley with the morning light.
In fall's embrace I know I will feel the scent on my cheek
that will set me free, hold me up when I have given all.

-Ed Tajchman