On the day my father died
I was two thousand miles away.
The weather was wet and grey.
The waves rolled roughly.
There was no blue
In sky
Or sea.
And what was tears or rain or spray,
I couldn’t say.

But that night, when I went to bed,
I opened my book:
Andersen’s Fairy Tales.
I turned the page
And there it was,
The title of the next story:
“What Papa Does Is Always Right”.

And now I must admit
That’s not as I saw it,
And quite often we clashed.
Like the farmer in the story
He had a loving wife,
And as much business sense
As a cucumber.
But he had a good heart,
And really in the end,
Nothing else matters.

Clothylde. January 2020.

(Because a picture can paint a thousand words, but sometimes one has to tell it as it is. and this is it. Sorry for the interruption. Back to painting).

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