A boarder, during WW 2, rented a room at my granmothers house, and stayed....true story/poem... <br /> <br />When he laughed, it was Christmas and apple pie. <br />When he frowned, mountains tried to run. <br />When he softly said, 'Stop yelling at your daughter, ' <br />Mother found something else to do, quickly. <br /> <br />For my 8th birthday, he gave me a dictionary. <br />For college advice, 'Read newspapers everyday.' <br />For my help, with his dream, the love of all growing things. <br />Knowledge of plants, trees, their ways, time... <br /> <br />He used an oxygen mask, years later. <br />He grew thin, then grew into shadow... <br />He and I never said 'Goodbye.' <br />Three days after, a 3a.m. June storm... <br /> <br />Ice cold air in his vacant bedroom, newspapers <br />Strewn across the room. Windows locked tight <br />Against monster winds outside. I stood at his <br />bedroom door, knew things I shouldn't have... <br /> <br />that he was telling 'his little girl' goodbye... <br />'Goodbye, Uncle Punt, you're here, aren't you...' <br />His oxygen mask, on the desk, fell to the floor. <br /> <br />I walked back to sleep, with his smile beside me...<br /><br />elysabeth faslund<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-second-father/
