Her father warrior, her father most kind. His foreign fields now left far behind.
Then he defended and mended at will. Those days recalled are treasured still.
His sword now rests with memories mixed. A quiet life upon him is fixed.
Her mother, his great love, away has passed. But her framed face smiles, his sassy lass.
Now daughter dear, he nightly calls, to share his glorious find.
“Did you see the moon?” He begs response with tenderness refined.
“Yes, I see the moon. Thank you, Dad!” She holds each call to heart.
Love’s kind exchange is never trite with bonds that never part.
Dedicated to Shirley, with love.
Photo by Luis Argerich
via Daily Prompt: Champion