Dad's Typewriter

After my father died, I moved to his old house Donated many large items to charities As each item was removed, tears streamed down my blouse But some were not wanted; what would become of these? Set up a table in the yard; sign said, “Free Stuff” The old Underwood typewriter wasn’t set out Parting with memories it evoked was just too rough It symbolized Dad’s life, without any doubt The late night hours a CPA spent at his desk With my cat curled up next to him, evoking grins As Dad typed away, little Prince looked statuesque I learned to type on what is now a “has been” This manual contraption replaced by high tech Represented a man who worked to provide Freely offering love, but stretching each pay check To give us a better life, Dad’s efforts applied The hours work took away from his family I used to resent, but I understand more now A sacrifice he made for my siblings and me The thought of parting with it I couldn’t allow The typewriter remains on Dad’s desk in the den As a reminder of how hard he worked to please Sometimes I still peck at the letters now and then When I’m missing Dad most, somehow it brings me peace