My father, Donald W. Baker, was a poet. I was looking through some of his poems the other day, both published and unpublished, and here's one I particularly like.
Dying In Massachusetts
I think I should like to die in Massachusetts,
wading Parker's River in sneakers at slack water,
my wire basket a quarter full of blue crabs,
and I easing my long-handled net towards a big one. (more…)