My father wrote poems for as long as I can remember. Usually for life events that stood out and inspired him. We're not sure where all of the poems are at this point, but it's my hope that eventually as many as possible will find their way here. Rest in peace Papa, Nov. 23, 1923-Dec. 1, 2015
Monday, April 28, 2008
Karl's poem to Jack's Memory
(The additional lines are between the stars.)
You think I'm here, but I have gone I've joined the wind up high, I've gone to visit the country where I hunted in the days gone by. When you come up to hunt the deer I'm the breeze that rumples your hair I'll spin the leaves around your feet so you will know I'm there. When you sit around the camp fire hot swapping tales and lies, I'll guide the wind that blows the smoke in everybody's eyes. * When you are lying at night in a high hunting camp And the sandman just won't close your eyes, I'll strum the leaves in the tops of the trees and hum some soft lullabys. * I'll ride the breeze down the brushy draw and find the new born fawn, I'll dry it off and stand it up and then go rushing on. I'll do a lot of things with the wind that I wanted to do before.. I'll riffle water on the streams and help the waterfalls roar. If you're fishing up in a mountain stream and a quick wind flips your hat Just ask yourself, and be truthful now, 'Do you think Jack would do that?'. When you're hunting over in Klickitat I'll drift with the wind through the oaks. You notice the limbs are bent over double-- they are laughing at my jokes! I'll go with the hot dry desert wind I'll bask in the sun and get brown, I won't need a drink and I won't need a rest and I'll never lie down. When you're driving along in your camper rig and you hear the rush of the wind, Put on a smile and have a good time I'll be having one with you my friend.
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