I dare to step in the print of your old walking shoes
on wet and mucky ground.
Climbing to the well together,
sticking feathers in Micky’s cowpies to mark the way back home,
I used to watch you scribe those hills on your heart
unaware of your composing thoughts.

A sea now between us, my steps evade your vigilant love;
leaning toward your rest, will your shadow be so long?
My friends won’t wear those gray cloth caps
citing reasons well thought out, but Dad,
I have mine on everywhere.

(Dunstan Skinner)