"my Pa's Law"

Rhythm In Rhyme Remembering back, was so very sad, to lose dad. But congenital heart disease, please! Is so very bad. Was no thrill gathering my will, taking strife’s bitter pill. Dad died at ease seems God was pleased, passed the test, laid at rest. At sixty nine, heart wasn’t fine, he had done his very best. His life quirk, was it seems hard work, did his best with little rest. But humor was not swayed, one day I realized as he paid, on an old beat up car, international Studebaker. He said, “Some people drive all their life, and never have a wreck. Has been all my life, all I’ve ever driven, by heck, is wrecks!” I remember his words, as yesterday, his severe life’s way. His plain quality of life, still cuts deeply as a knife. Could not read or write was his plight; surely to some a sight. Though he laughed and lived, no fancy earthly material to give, his friendship was valued, for miles around, even in town. His friends’ obvious abound, the day we laid him in the ground. John Henry was his name; though steel driving, was never his aim. His name was sound, in town, and for many, many miles around. Sawmilling was his game, that so many said, was his fame. He could saw more lumber than any, to many, a wonder. Laughing long and loud, of his talent to saw, so very proud. But in my childhood years, was the shedding of so many tears. For from him to get a nod, was for me so very hard. To me I was just a clod, while to me he was nearly God. But in my latter years, I put away my fears, dried my tears. For love was always in his heart; from first day of my start, though he was a bit short, not knowing how to show that part. I learn to know from his ways `Tis tough love, ultimately pays!' It is now tough love that paves, me through many of life’s maze. I love him still; that’s the deal! Bitter pill, only a life phase, so putting flowers on his grave, is to me not a bit naïve. For tough love made life better of the letter; of my PA'S LAW!!