My father never spoke of dreams.
His life without regret?
Or were his dreams
The kind he couldn’t share,
Thought I wouldn’t understand?
I hope with all my heart
He underestimated me;
Hope he could have told me,
If not then, when I was young,
Then now, when it’s too late
For him,
But not too late for me.
©2010 John I. Blair
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