He held my hand protectively,
rough, calloused so deeply
that hard days dirt had settled
in wood tattoos telling the story of his life.
He smelt of old-fashioned soap
army clean with shiny boots
beneath worn coveralls doused in oil.
the earth has a blanket
billions of ice crystals in nimbus
concerto. Snow, heading our way
in an overture of delighted expectancy.
To a child’s eyes, the dragons danced
crocodiles snapped, ships sailed, witches flew
and unicorns existed in those majestic peaks.
wrapped up in flannelette,
Watching the clouds fall to earth
I dreamt I was warmed
by that same foamy blanket
as I fell asleep in dads arms.