my father’s book

Late summer light
Sharp shadows below the trees
Utters a bit of sadness
Like a old poem
Found in a book
Long forgotten
The leaf pressed
Between two pages
Obscuring the print
Of another language
Though what does it matter
Still translatable through the leaves
Your father’s words are still there
No one was allowed to read them
In the preface was written
If you are a smart ass
You will read this;)