The Gift

It was a small book he gave me full of empty pages and promises. Like dads who pull quarters from behind their childrens' ears a son hopes there is magic in a blank book. So, I drip letters from my pen stacking them like dragons or a firetruck or a memory that smells like the honeysuckle we drank on bicycle rides. I pray he finds a quiet place where he can hold these thoughts as firmly as held his Ninja Turtle sword.

Request permission to use this poem

Written by

drumhound

American

For You?

Explore

Hello PoetryVoting

Write