I tell her
that the moon
is God’s
lost contact lens
and that
the thunder
is Him
rummaging ‘round
in the Heavens
myopically looking for it.
“God is a noisy old devil
isn’t he? ”
“I see! ”
she says.
Considers this
for a bit then:
“Oh Daddy!
you’re being silly again! ”
She scolds in her
mother’s tone.
And takes my hand
walks me down
the road unafraid
as if I were her
three year old.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-road-unafraid-for-lyn/
