Father Teacher written by Nancy LeMay
Dedicated to my Dad
Wanting to talk,
I miss my Dad tonight.
His voice, the soft tone,
the depth from his broad chest,
the show of his emotion
in something he has just said
to his daughter, his story;
We planted the gardens one spring.
We planted several times
but this one special time
I recall the dark damp earth,
in my hand, the smell
of Mother Earth.
My father had stopped
to show me an overturned crow's-foot
the plow had unearthed
the burrow nest of a mouse
in the dark damp soil.
Very softly, he scooped tiny pink creatures
into the palm of my hands
petting them gently.
We took them to the end
of the garden and put them in the shade
of an earth moist clod.
I recall the very feel
of cool and warm earth and tiny pink mice
and my dad talking, teaching me
his daughter that all life is sacred.
