Daddy's hands were rough and large. Bear paws really. He could chop a tree at the speed of light. Then turn around and bail hay all night.

Home from the war a farmer he would be. With chunks of bullets lodged in hip and both knees.

He would talk in whispers and sing to the breeze. Walk unstung through swarms of bees.

Momma and daddy lay awake some nights calming his tears from memories of the fight.

My daddy hugged me with those great big hands. As I prepared for sea, now a warrior soon, I would also be.









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