REMEMBERING MY FATHER

I stood at my father’s grave, a part of me also had died,
I did not even bother to try my deep sorrow to hide,
The memories of happy days flooded my memory,
No painful parting could ever take that away from me.

I closed my eyes and saw us standing side by side
With a prize won, you should have seen the pride
That shone in those hazel eyes, the love for me,
A love that I knew would last through eternity.

I saw him when my head was bowed in shame,
I thought could he ever really love me the same,
But with the tip of his finger he lifted my head,
Try hard to be good my child, kindly he said.

As he played with my children he was young again,
He never once complained when he was in great pain,
As he slowly became weaker and his live passing by,
He always managed to smile, never said the word goodby.

He thought he would get better, with the children play,
We bought him a model sailing ship for his last birthday,
I can see frail hands struggling the ship to complete,
As if he wanted it with him when his God he would meet.

Fathers are both kind and strict, a teacher and a friend,
A child at heart that wants to play, a wrestler to contend,
Someone who sometimes lets you win at your favorite game,
A man who works hard to provide, never seeking fame.

A man who is always honest, teaches right from wrong,
Even substitutes for mom by singing a nighttime song.
My husband is a good father, one I am honoured to know,
God bless all father’s who love their families as they grow.

M Ann Margetson © June 12, 2001

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