My affirmation deceitfully severed
forever robbed by selfishness
Left to tackle life alone
Tumbling in the wake of my dad's mess
He left when I was three
The crevasse has increased for 33 years
Traded his life with us
For another woman and a couple of beers
He wasn't there to pick me up
When I fell off of my bike
To teach me how to fish
Or enjoy a nature hike
Now I'm a father to my son
Hoping not to make the same mistake
Living day to day on this lake of life
My son in tow through my own wake
It's been nine years and we're going strong
Six more years with my son
That's more with him than I had with mine
My son I guard in a web I've spun
A web of love, discipline, and nurture
Full of "I love you's" and "see ya in the morning"
A kiss before school and one before bed
Lots of playing, talking, reading, and singing
My son doesn't know the pain I feel
To not know my dad in intimate ways
No hands to comfort me or words to heal
No dad in sight for 12,045 days.............................(and counting)
My son and I have a great relationship and for this I am thankful......
Copyright © Abe Lopez | Year Posted 2009
Being the shortest in my high school gym class
Attempts to play basketball brought no success
Broke my finger while trying to catch a pass
Leaping to take balls from tall girls? What a mess!
Always loved football, baseball and soccer too
But in basketball I succumbed to defeat
Just couldn’t get into it, that is true
Till Dad took me to see the Miami Heat
Startled he was, watching me jump up and down
Although my enthusiasm was contrived
The cheers of other fans my loud voice did drown
This was the last time I saw my Dad alive
I’m so thankful now that I went to that game
Dad was so grateful for these moments we shared
When I watch basketball now, it’s not the same
It was Dad and not the sport for which I cared
*Entry for Deb’s “Play Ball” contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
My father had been out of work for way too long.
At night, I often heard him and mom weep
Food was scant, but love was strong.
As was that hunger pain when I lay to sleep.
My little brother was too young to understand.
Still a babe in arms, he brought our only smiles.
I loved to play with him and hold his tiny hand.
It seemed to take away the hurt from life trials.
Then, one-day dad came home all excited.
He was talking so fast, grinning from ear to ear.
He said that our future was well fated.
That we were in for adventure was clear.
It was that new ocean liner, the Titanic.
Dad had been hired for the maiden voyage.
We were going along as his sidekick.
A family destined for American homage.
In just five days we boarded that ship.
Immigrating was a dream come true.
Accommodations would be a hardship.
But it was worth opportunities…new.
Dad worked as a scullion in the restaurant.
We were housed on the lower deck.
It was a very crowded lodgment.
We stayed together until the shipwreck.
Sirens were screeching people screaming.
We could not find dad anywhere.
Was he locked up as a cageling?
Could it be true; was he trapped down there?
Lifeboats were being lowered.
Mom held my brother, crying.
Dad must be somewhere cloistered.
We all feared a dreadful dying.
Someone put me in a lifeboat.
I reached for mom as it descended.
The Titanic was still afloat.
But my family separated.
The water was freezing.
I had forgotten my coat.
People crying, sniffling, and sneezing.
The lifeboat soon became an iceboat.
Within a few hours, death began.
Shivering, I crawled beneath two corpses.
A young girl destined to live without her clan.
Hidden from polar breezes.
That was the last time I saw my mother.
My mind holds the image clearly.
She, calling for dad, was cuddling brother.
Oh, how I loved my family dearly.
When rescuers finally arrived.
I was the only one alive in the lifeboat.
Beneath those bodies, I survived.
Then, I was wrapped in a warm coat.
I never did see America.
I was sent to an orphanage back home.
Life had dealt a great trauma.
Forever had sunken in the ocean's foam.
© April 9, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: My heart will go on and on.... Free Poetry
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2012
Blow on a dandelion and wish
God's parachutes, my dad would say
Then fold your hands, whisper a prayer
And watch them as they float away
You can say anything to God
So talk to Him like He's your friend
God answers all our prayers, sweet girl
Because His love will never end
God cares for us, and He is wise
He knows what's right and just and true
The Lord may say the time is right
And in His grace, say yes to you
But though you may not understand
Sweet child, believe the Lord knows best
So do not be surprised sometimes
If He says no to your request
So dear, give thanks for all His gifts
Both granted and to those denied
For you never really can go wrong
If you trust Him to be your guide
Copyright © Andrea Doherty | Year Posted 2015
The last great snowflake standing
Little snowflakes fell swiftly
All around the house they fell
Eight male flakes_three little girls
House was lively in winter
As they all warmed by the fire
Boys' boistour tales, girls brush long hair
Then silence all rested heads
At four A.M. each morn_chores
Breakfast, lunch packed off to school
Walking that long mile was rule
School was important dad said
Soon the oldest snowflake wed
As life goes all followed him
Leaving the warm hearth behind
Some of them to produce twins
As life goes_death visited
All their humble doors sadness
Some had children die at birth
And some at very young age
What they saw in their lifetime
Changes that took place_cars_planes
Atom bomb that ended war
None their warm family disgraced
Death started visiting doors
One above middle went home first
Then slowly they all went home
But dad was the last snowflake
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
In all my years I've never seen
a face so weathered, yet seldom mean.
A semblance of a younger man
of whom I was the biggest fan.
A tired soul in eyes so hollow,
where he went this kid would follow.
Now he's resting more and moving less.
Is this what's left for God to bless?
Disease and age have beat him down,
yet no one ever sees him frown.
Mortal thoughts creep in as days go by.
What's it really like when we die?
But he won't dwell on that, with time so fleeting,
and his mind still sharp, despite the beating.
No he won't complain, why even bother?
My hero is this wonderful father.
Copyright © James Nichols | Year Posted 2012
They said you needed surgery.
You said 'There's business I must do.'
I drove you to the funeral home.
The arrangements were for you.
I had to wait outside that day.
I couldn't go in there.
I don't know how you made those plans.
You showed how much you cared.
You knew you wouldn't make it.
You feared the end was near.
I hate what your life did to you.
I wish you were still here.
How do you plan your funeral?
Were you as scared as I?
What were your thoughts heading to the docs?
Did you know that you would die?
If I could turn back time and say
the things I'd like to say,
I'd say 'I love you' and 'I'll miss you.'
'I wish that you could stay! '
Copyright © Mary Nagy | Year Posted 2005
There on that bench, here in this park
Was where I met God, alone in the dark.
He wasn’t adorned with riches galore.
He was a pauper man, not needing more.
He sat with me then, as I was so scared.
Just eight years old, and I got lost at the fair.
Separated from family, didn’t know where to go
I sat on the bench and waited there so.
Along came this man, scared of him I was
Until he sat next to me, I lost fear because
He spoke with a tone and offered a hand,
A sign to me that he would understand.
I told him my story. He said not to fear.
He’d stay with me until family was near.
I felt reassured and safe as could be.
His warm soft voice, it blanketed me.
Then in the distance, my dad had appeared.
He was right all along, I had nothing to fear.
My dad came up crying and hugged me so tight.
I then turned to that man to wish him goodnight.
He was there on the bench, I knew it for sure.
When I turned my head, he wasn’t there anymore.
I looked at my dad and told him of my tale
He smiled back at me and fell awfully pale.
He said, “Son when you need him, God does appear.
It’s not very strange that He was right here.
He serves and protects and loves us all much.
I believe He was here and gave you His touch.”
I was amazed at those words that my father said.
I couldn’t wait to go home and pray at my bed.
“Dear God up in the Heaven, I thank you, I do.
You sent me a savior and that savior was You.
You reached to this child, protected this night.
You offered him hope and provided light.
You took away his fear and made him feel warm.
Mostly, Dear God, you kept him from harm.
Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008
I have fallen victim so many times
To nobody's fault except only mine.
I will ask for forgiveness and have faith,
Even though I feel like I am not saved.
Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013
I’ve placed it in the most visible place
This old photo of black and white
Taken in 1943, the edges worn and frayed
Papa, Mama, Winnie, eyes bright
Though one by one they’ve all gone
They’ve left legacies of love, faith
And the sweet memories linger on
This beautiful photo transmits
When I look at their eyes
Warmth and gentleness residing
Dressed in their best, wearing subtle smiles
Beauty is captured, surviving!
Inspired by a beautiful photo of my parents and eldest sister...R.I.P.
Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2013
When we talk, he calls me Gal
and it always warms my heart
Especially when we're on the phone
cuz we're so far apart
I've never told him this
how much it means to me
That no one else has ever
used this warm metonymy
So tenacious all his life
In his ways he's very set
No matter what he does
It's right, on that you can bet
Do what you think is right
To us he's always told
Our decisions were always backed
My father's loyalty is GOLD
I hope he knows I love him
I tell him every time we speak
Don't ever quit calling me Gal
And I'll always kiss your cheek
Copyright © Wendy Beaudoin | Year Posted 2007
To teach me always
I could ask for nothing else
Thank you and LOVE always!
Copyright © Maryam Jameela Haniff | Year Posted 2009
Whenever I look in a mirror,
I see what I swore I'd never see.
For there's an image of my father,
shamelessly staring right back at me.
There is his fat belly I hated,
hanging profusely over my belt.
And the droopy bags under his eyes,
now sag under mine as the years melt.
I see the scars time etched on his face,
with every wart and worry wrinkle.
And I see his empty, hollow eyes,
that over time had lost their twinkle.
I see his face, and his balding head,
for age has stolen most of my hair.
And with his crinkled cheeks and false teeth,
I swear it's him, not me standing there.
Yet I've grown fond of this timeworn look,
for I know how each blemish was earned.
And finding my father looked like me,
is the most humbling lesson learned.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016
Happy Father's Day, Dad,
You know, You Da Man,
And I just want to let you know,
That I'm your biggest fan.
There's no one else in all the world,
Who'd do the things you do.
You're there whene'er we need you.
No matter what, there's you.
You're the man who has the plan,
The one I always turn to.
My buddy, pal, my mentor,
There's fathers, then there's you.
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2012
He was the leader of the band till age ninety-three
Won the Senior Olympics five-mile race thirty times
In the Depression Dad worked to feed his family
And succeeded by pinching all nickels and dimes
Never raised his voice in anger; that was not Dad’s way
Gave money to educate Native Americans
But he didn’t once mention the cash he gave away
To animal rights causes and disabled veterans
At six feet, broad-shouldered, he handled Mom’s depression
And brightened children’s lives with his dramatic antics
Making up stories on the spot with imagination
He mastered the art of pulling laughs from his bag of tricks
Friends were jealous; none had a father as kind as mine
Imagine the pride I felt when he walked me down the aisle
A humble man who never complained, not even one whine
Though I’m alone now, Dad made my childhood worthwhile
He didn’t wear Superman’s cape or have a magic ring
Some might have mistaken him as an ordinary man
But Dad set the bar so high, to me he was a king
No boys could ever match him, the hero of our clan
*For Jeanette Fisher’s “Holding Out for a Hero” Contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2012
Letter to Mum and Dad
Dear Mum, Dear Dad, you're gone from my life.
I remember you now as a good husband and wife.
Dad, I saw you lay there. Lifeless, quite still.
The shocks that they gave you, zapped at my will.
When I touched you, your body, still warm, lips blue.
A far cry from the father, the man I once knew.
Your cheeks in contrast, stood out, quite bold.
Your hand I touched. That memory I hold.
Mum, I never saw you, when you passed away.
You were alone in your bed, so it's for you that I pray.
I remember you most, for the love that you gave me.
Always caring, never judging, I wished I could save thee.
Now that you're gone, I don't feel alone.
You're the best parents in life, this child could have known.
So it's with you in memory, my life has begun.
I remain as always, your ever loving son.
Copyright © Chris Matthews | Year Posted 2013
Soon after Dad bought the little farm
He bought a Jersey milk cow
Said Old Blue's a real milk producer
I’ll hand milk since I know how
Then we had fresh raw milk all the time
Made butter by using a churn
Sold all the raw milk we didn’t use
So some extra bucks were earned
There was no waste from butter or cream
The pigs would just get a treat
Of course dad milked early each morn
Tote hot water, wash the teats
No getting away with a milk cow
Twice a day Dad milked Old Blue
Hated to milk cold winter mornings
Just something he had to do
The farm let Dad get back to his roots
Said it was good for the boys
That why he bought the farm and live stock
To live a life he enjoyed
Copyright © Charles Sides | Year Posted 2011
I am a daughter,
but I’m dad’s namesake.
For four generations,
Dad taught me much
“Tobble” meant fair to middlin’
he was tobble patient
teaching me to drive.
I cried at church -
didn’t know how to tell time.
He took me home right then
and showed me how.
Dad was the fixer.
“Pert near” meant almost;
he pert near built our house.
He let me do the roof shingles.
His strong hearty laugh
never met a stranger.
“Peak ed” meant sickly
and cancer left him peak ed.
Christmas 1989 he said goodbye.
He taught us to be prepared -
He was ready to go,
peaceful and sure.
Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2014
Though we see Him
Or see Him not
He remains with us
With his divine incense.
Copyright © Fatima Hasan Zaidi | Year Posted 2016
What drives people to kill one another
Are they made of different stuff
Is their brain matter arranged so differently
Can't imagine being angry enough
Enough to take the life of another human
Over passion, possessions, or greed
So foreign to everything I have ever learned
I live by my daddy's creed
Dad once told me when I was just a tike
Each one of us is created equal
I've never forgotten his words to this day
Prejudice is absolutely pure evil
What gives man the right to claim otherwise
To aquire an unsatiable appetite
To pillage and plunder for the sake of power
We all meet the same end despite
Wars have been fought for as long as forever
At my age I won't see an end
As long as each one of us has love in our hearts
We can hold our heads high, my friends
© Jack Ellison 2015
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015
This was written in 2009.....I never gave it to him:
IF ONLY I HAD BEEN MORE LIKE HIM
A man of infinite intellect told me to start thinking about thinking
And believe me that his is indisputable intelligence
The only problem is too much of the time I am thinking about drinking
Or doing the distinctly dishonest thing with duly deemed diligence
So I decided to write these words for no good reason at all
The only reason for scribing this is because I felt it was what I was supposed to do
I’ve discovered it’s difficult to think when you’re banging your head on a wall
And thinking about doing the right thing, to me, is a concept too brand new
So I am sitting here thinking about thinking with dedication
Yet with perseverance I am perceiving the dark and the dim
This man of infinite intelligence spoke words with an important implication
And I am also thinking about my father and how advantageous it would be if I were more like him
Too late now, sadly
Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2013
While eating barbecued chicken last night
Realized it was once a living creature
All of a sudden I felt quite strange about eating it
Now I'm not a vegetarian preacher
What made me think about it after all my years
And the amount of chicken I've downed
Not sure but I really didn't like the feeling
Must have eaten hundreds of pounds
My dad was a pseudo vegetarian of sorts
Very rarely eating any kind of meat
So it seems after all these many years later
His motivation was not quite so unique
Back then he was considered a wee bit strange
With some of the ideas he chimed
Now realize after more than sixty years later
He was just a bit ahead of his time
<3 <3 <3
© Jack Ellison 2013
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013
DADS LITTLE BLACK BOX….
When I was a tiny tot, just up off the ground,
My dad had a little black box, which mad a lot of sound.
It would go off, during the night,
on with the boots,& out of sight.
My dad is, a fire fighter you see,
Being all that he could be.
Through the summer, he was gone a lot,
Fighting fire which, burnt so hot.
Winter came, as did rain,
Dad’s black box would, sound again.
He is a fire fighter, you see,
Mending things for you and me.
One day when I was older,
I made a decision that would make me bolder.
I would to be a fire fighter
Making peoples days much brighter.
I’d climb into to that big red truck,
With my dad and all our luck,
We’d fight the fire, side by side
Clean the mess with the greatest pride.
I’ll wear the black boots, just like my dad,
Wear my yellows, and whistle a tad.
I know the next time my black box will sound
I’ll be on my way, to the fire ground.
I’ll meet him there and when we’re done
I’ll hug him tight and say thanks for the fun.
For my dad is a fire fighter you see
Just like him, I’ve come to be.
Copyright © Laura Tallon | Year Posted 2011
Brother, Big “J”, was the first born
I was the last to arrive
Born to some loving parents
Our family life did survive
In my family as I grew up
It was Dad who was “Da Man”
And Dad and Mom would speak as one
That’s how our family ran
Never did I hear a cross word
Spoken between Dad and Mom
If waters churned behind closed doors
I only saw waters calm
My folks both come from the old school
Sparing the rod’s not their thing
Dad did most of the discipline
Sometime he punished with pain
When Big “J” or I, did bad things
Mom would say in a low tone
Words that we both hated to hear
“Just wait till your Dad gets home”
As I grew older, I soon found
A whipping isn’t so bad
Punishment by a tongue lashing
Could really make you feel sad
It was off to church each Sunday
Then we would go out to eat
To Luby’s Cafeteria
To me that was such a treat
We took a family vacation
To a new place every year
It was planned to fit our budget
We did things kind of austere
Most of his life, Dad was a cop
Of one sort or another
A grandson became a cop too
As did one of his brothers
Now Dad was a “Jack of All Trades”
Must have learned lots on the farm
My Mom was an excellent cook
Our food was always served warm
Both had a great sense of humor
My Dad could tell a good joke
He did have one bad habit though
For many years he puffed smoke
I lost Dad at age fifty three
Mom left at seventy two
I’m the only one still alive
Brother Big “J” is gone too
Of course I miss them all so much
They left me here all alone
Those memories from my early years
No longer shared, since they’re gone
Copyright © Charles Sides | Year Posted 2011
Canny remember this Lass's name,
but fur the poem's sake let's assume she's Jane.
'Jane ' this per wee soul had fingers lighter than a blidy feather,
aw things within her sicht yea had tae tether.
Wartime is no jist a time fur wurry or sorrow,
Certainly no fur Jane, aw things she wanted she jist borrowed.
Aye aw things she'd borrow without askin' if she could:(
frae clothes pegs,newspapers an' oany flippin' type o' food.
Funny thing tho' is ,she wis hard tae catch,
wae Jane, things vanished, even oot o' awbidy's veggie patch.
Noo this went oan fur sum munths -even a year.
every week sum wee thing wid jist disappear.
Everybidy jist kent is wis this lass Jane,
bit ivery bidy's attempt tae catch her wis jist in vain.
Yea kid be talkin tae her an' she kid steal yer blidy teeth,
nae kiddin' this lass wis beyond belief.
We lived in number three oor wee But'N'Ben,
Jane lived in five or wis it ten?
Nae matter- she lived in tapmaist flat,
jist hersel' withoot luv an' no even a wee tabby cat:(
No oor family didnae want tae drop her in the poo,
jist teach her a lesson ma dad said he wid do.
So ma Dad an'ma uncle Harry made a parcel wae a few frills,
An' left it oan the neighbour's doonstairs windae-sill.
Sure as itchy flees oan a wee cat's bum,
it wisnae lang before Jane did come.
She walked past the frilly parcel here oan the windae-ledge,
ma Dad an' uncle Harry watchin' -nerves oan edge.
Quick as a blidy blidy' flash,
that said parcel unner Jane's airm an' oaf she dashed.
Up the stairs tae her flat in number ten.
dad an' uncle Harry waited fur whit they didnae ken.
Suddenly the level three tap windae o' Jane's wee flat,
an' oot came that undone frilly parcel like a blidy scalded cat.
It landed at ma Dad an' uncle Harry's feet,
whit wis in that parcel a canny easily repeat.
Dad an' uncle Harry wir in fits an' tears,
their laffin' muscles wir in tap gear.
A wee clue tae the contents - Coo's S#!^#,
stull wonderin' eh? Rhymes wae Kite.
Noo cross ma hert this story is true,
cos' we had a dairy roon back which had lotes o' coo's poo.
As for Jane - weel she kent we knew she had fingers light,
never again did she pick up parcels full of S#!^#.
Aye the last wurd rhymes wae Kite
The Auld Yin.
Copyright © Alex Gardiner | Year Posted 2012
POOR ME-POOR ME- POUR ME ANOTHER ONE
This is the tale of Andre and Lowell
Andre was black and Lowell was white
this is the tale of the car both of them stole
and a court system that just ain't right
Andre was from the hood where money is scarce
and the inhabitants lived day to day
the days could be combative and the nights were fierce
but Lowell came from the right side of the San Francisco Bay
Lowell's dad had a high paying job down town
Andre's dad worked for the day labor folk
Lowell went to a dance with a girl in a gorgeous gown
Andre couldn't go anywhere because his family was broke
one night the two friends had nothing to do
when both of their visions espied a Porshe, brand fu*king new
Andre knew the ins and outs of hot wiring a car
and Lowell knew it would take them near or far
well they didn't get very far that night
because suddenly red and blue lights began to flash
the night was dark but the colored lights were bright
and all six cops were burly and brash
so they were cuffed and taken to jail
and they both need money to get out
of course Lowell got out because daddy made bail
and thus began a course in what racism is all about
the next morning they met before the judge
Lowell sat there in ease knowing he had a lawyer expensive as hell
Andre stayed motionless, afraid to make a budge
and his body a lot of sweat to quell
one separate trial but two outcomes were announced
Lowell's daddy had money so the lawyer cost seventy-five grand
Andre's jaw dropped when he heard his sentence pronounced
as he thought about how men on the chain gang became so tanned
Andre got five to eight years in a prison upstate
Lowell got no community service and a ninety dollar fine
all Andre could do was complain to his present cell mate
while Lowell continued buying caviar and drinking the finest wine
so that was the tale of a car, two friends and justice denied
because the rich and poor have two different laws
behind her mask the lady of law simply cried
and instead of nails she should have claws
© 2012....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2012
Always been blessed with “stick-to-it-ness”
Got it from my dear old dad
He once rode a bike three hundred sixty miles
Took four days each way, egad!
At any age, that's quite an accomplishment
But my dad was sixty years old
From Montreal to Toronto and back again
A feat so gruelling, so bold
A wee one of ten back in nineteen forty-six
Didn't hit me till many years later
The impact of his enormous accomplishment
It then seemed a whole lot greater
Been telling this proud tale wherever I go
Bout inheriting his “stick-to-it-ness”
Don't think I can even come close to matching
The resolve and dedication he possessed
© Jack Ellison 2013
Sadly, he died of cancer at the young age of 67
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013
My father was sitting on a dark couch in the living room,
He had an odd expression on his face and looked full of gloom,
I approached my dad and said " Why do you look this way?"
He said " I should have heard what that prophet had to say"
Now your a cashier and your brother is a grocery store clerk,
I just would not get rid of my past to find some better work,
I am so sorry that I blew your future and every goal you had,
God would not bless me again because I made him mad.
Copyright © Dawn Gordon | Year Posted 2011
My child the time is growing short.
We really need to talk.
There are things that you don't understand,
So you rave and rant and balk.
You want to captain your own ship,
Won't kneal before a Master,
Because many who have lived by faith,
Have met with some disaster;
But all men serve a god, My Child,
Be he low or noble born;
But it seems the more a man is blessed,
The more he tends to scorn,
All that's good and right in life,
And all that makes good sense;
But for showing such distain,
There must be recompense.
The sheep who stay within the fold,
Are fed, protected, sheltered;
But those who shun the Shepherd's care,
Are food for wolves and buzzards.
Come home to Me while there's still time,
I'll open wide the door.
Come home while I still reach for you,
Be strange to Me no more.
This body ages, withers and dies.
The spirit lives on.
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2011
Hey dad, I met a big head today
Always boasting of sports, hey come see me play
Anything I wanted, he had one at home
From a mountain bike to a mobile phone
Hey son, these guys are all ten a penny
Manners they have not, whilst my boy you have many
They buy their friends and their allegiance is none
Your life has started, his has barely begun
Hey dad, he waffles in class, about this about that
Even being rude to the teacher, creating a spat
Where we try to learn and get on with our work
Constant interruption by this incompetent jerk
Hey son, one of these days his fingers will get burnt
And all in your class, will have forgotten more than he's learnt
As you get older, you will become wise to your surrounds
And I doubt very much, this big head will be around
Hey dad, I can always rely on you
To give me guidance and help see me through
Absorbing knowledge will be my life's learning curve
And this incompetent jerk, will get his just deserves
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010