My father moved through theys of we, 
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)
e.e. cummings, ‘my father moved through dooms of love’

Wishing the world of pops and grandpops a lovely fathers’ day—one filled with games of horseshoes, grilled corn-on-the-cob, and poppa bear hugs. Hoping—whether near yours or not so much—you have a heart full of sweet memories. And remembering fondly my own dad, who I miss so very much. /M


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