His Daughter

I drove down to the river today

Just to stare up at those old trees

Because once, many years ago

Beside a river, beneath old trees

I thought I heard my father’s voice

In the sound of the breeze in the leaves

But I couldn’t quite hear what he said

Standing still, shading my eyes with my sleeves

And so I keep on going back

Keep on listening to the sound of the breeze

In the hope that I’ll hear him again

How the wind and those branches do tease…