Daddy died one February,
with ice-rain frozen to the ground.
Tear’s flowed from my woman’s eyes.
My voice could barely make a sound.
We were never close - never spoke of lo e.
His belt with singing buckle kept
me from straying from his rigid ways.
His hands, at punishing, were adept.
But in my heart I knew that old man,
single-father, did the the best he could.
Unlearned and simple, my father
made his living planing logs into wood.
No part of the past could hold me back
from seeing him to his Savior with grace.
No suit - a blue shirt I had made...
It softened up his old leathered face.
I chose the Country-Western songs
he had listened to all his his life.
caused a consternation with family
when Hank Williams sang of pain and strife.
More than one relative did gasp as
Honkey Tonk Angels was sung by Kitty Wells.
The looks I got promised I’d be sent
to at least a half a dozen hells.
That was Daddy’s last day here on earth.
He had done his best...with little given.
No time for bad thoughts or words...
Daddy, all is now forgiven.