The Bard of Ocean View

 

My father could tell a story
He conjured on the fly
Digging into his deep intellectual quarry,
Narrating in effortless try.
 
Daily walking the beach on the Bay,
Both summer and winter too,
He never met a stranger any day,
To him old friends, not new.
 
He would point out beyond the beach
At a cargo or Navy ship to this friend
And spout its history to teach
With some accuracy (and flourishes) in the blend.
 
He was never a ‘know-it-all’
And never pretended he was.
He had no gall
Which drew my applause.
 
 

© 2024 Worth Earlwood Norman Jr