Thank you for my hands—the broad palms,
the long split life-line.
Thank you for my strong arms,
my short strong legs.
Thank you for my dark hair
turning white instead of dull.
Thank you for the garden and the craft,
the silence, the forest, the birds,
the fields full of four-leafed clover,
the deer on the edges everywhere.
Remembering my Dad, who died 16 years ago on February 1, which the Irish counted the First Day of Spring.
He was born on October 31, the Eve of the First Day of Winter.