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my dad

in the bay area up a mountain near a  field,
tears sting from the mourners aftermath,
on the graves is a accumulation of dew,
on this row a little further is my dads path.

I wish he could talk from the  ground,
but all I hear are the loud mouth  birds
flowers wither in their place are  weeds
and the grave stones sad words

I hide it well that my heart is  bare,
and everything I see is dirty brown,
they come to me every night thought,
I forgot what happiness is I am always down

I miss my dad and the morning teas
 since he left the sky isn't blue
I came here to give him a flower
To carry again to you.

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