A Man She Called My Father
Didn't know the man,
a man she called my father.
In the hot, humid summer,
sounds of Cicada and smell of Pines,
polyester miniskirts, the summer of sixty-nine.
Didn't know the man,
a man she called my father.
They came from seas of wheat,
great fields of green,
two young lovers from the heartland.
Didn't know the man,
a man she called my father.
This man known only by the Kodak.
This man, with his helmet and jet,
and this little blond boy who had his hero.
Didn't know the man,
a man she called my father.
A little boys embrace never known,
a little boys love never sown,
and his daddy's heart ache that kept him away.
Didn't know the man,
a man she called my father.
Pensive moments, tears, crushing pain,
and anger vented it surely was,
for why else would a daddy leave his little blond boy.
I'll never know or understand.
It remains sealed in the heart of the man I didnt know.
A man she called my father.
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