Dad's Work Shed

Dad's work shed to this day The scent of wood and dust in the air The cobwebs in corners and crooks Sun flooding in through windows . . . His scarred and scored wooden work table And the countless tin cans of nails and screws And Dad working on a new plan His coffee cup forgotten and ignored And I would bring him flowers . . . Precious dandelions, buttercups and daisies Which he would place in a dirty container of some sort Smiling, he would lift me up to sit beside him We would ponder his scribbled sketches O, the grand ideas he had . . . I still have those doodles and outlines I look at them sometimes and recall And the lazy afternoon would pass For me and Dad And later we would sit on the rusty porch swing Side by side, just swinging . . . And I would hold his hand so tight Like I never wanted to let it go But, God had a plan Written in the book of destiny And who am I- to question what is written