Dear Dylan

My dad walked out of my life when I was ten years old, and over the next five decades, 

gave me a grand total of three gifts. 

The first was this book of poems by Dylan Thomas, and I'm still struggling to read it through. 

Dear Dylan, sir, I must confess

At first, your poems did not impress

In fact, your utter wordiness

Drove my poor head to distress.

The real reason, I soon came to see

Had almost naught to do with thee

But much more likely, chances be

With the one who gifted me.

My wandering dad was such a bum

Our relationship sure made me glum

So when this gift arrived from him

My disappointment did overcome.

But you, my friend, are not to blame

Your rhyming verse was never lame

And so if it is all the same

To you, I'd like to praise your name.

Your poems are among the best.

But of this fact I must attest

Some surely put me to the test

Their meanings I have not yet guessed.

But still I try. Won't let my dad

Lead me to doing something bad

Rejecting an artist I haven't had

Would be an act that makes me sad.

So dear Dylan, on this day

I ask you, sir, to have your way

With me and please, I well do pray,

Just tell me what you're trying to say.

* * * * *

A poet named Mary Jane, who is also my friend, invited me to write 

a poem a day for eight days in a row. Here I go!

For Myself

Baby Rhymes

Art Fair

Dear Dylan

Haiku On A December Afternoon

O Christmas Tree - 2020 Remix

Orange

Yellow

And one more for good measure:

Snowflakes Fall