Daddy, remember when I held your hand, I was twelve – you were human then.
You slipped away to obscure places where the laughter of children calling, “Papi papi,” anchored you.
At family gatherings, you hung your head, then slipped into the night – like a shadow flees sunlight.
“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thoughts and the thought has found words”
Robert Frost
Annie's Memoir ~ Unforced rythms of grace 
Thank you. I saw, and envied, your bond with your dad. Now it’s clear the reason I did. Your gift definitely lies in the written word.
Yes, I find it easier to pray by writing also. Something about the God-given ability to express myself in that form.