Daddy, Daddy, you always said I
was the one most like you. Bold
and brazen. Extremely so, many
people would say. Like you a
know a little about everything.
And I never forget a name.
You used to say I was like
an elephant in that way!
Daddy, you always loved
to work. Traveling around
and living the essence
of the old south. You said
each time you visited Charleston,
a part of your Yankee upbringing died.
As I grew, when you would come home
you took me to bouncing knee, and
whispered " you'll see my girl". The call
of the wild lives in you, just as it does in me.
They call it wanderlust.
I followed you Daddy. I tried to chase
my dreams. Instead of becoming a
journalist, I brought you a grandson.
I've started writing again Daddy! My imagination
frees me. Satisfies my wanderlust for now.
Daddy, I'm not that much like you at all really. I'm
not strong like you. I left my compass alone
to rot. I have no idea which road to take.
I'm just a sad little girl, missing you desperately
each day. Why did you have to leave me
here, too? Heaven is so far away.
My wanderlust is calling me now.
Oh Daddy, I love you. Truly I do.
I wish I was there with you!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's not fair that our daddys have to leave us. Afterwards we are only half the person we were when they were here with us. There is some alchemy that happens when loved ones die- though we thought we couldn't possibly love them any more when we had them present- somehow after they're gone away, the absence ignites an eternal flame deep inside of us that will never extinguish and part of them seems to continue through us, and that I think is the true grief of death, that their last vestiges must die inside of our death.