You are a tall tree
and I grew up
beneath your
thinning canopy.
How, at times,
you broke your
boughs for me!
I've climbed them now,
and I look out upon
the world, so vast,
and mad.
I'm grateful for
your altitude.
Happy Birthday,
Dad.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
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