My Father

My father died at 55 When I was 31. He never was a grandpa Though his namesake is my son. For Fathers' Day I must have bought A token card and gift, The effort being just enough To give his heart a lift. I miss his laugh and, too, the way He liked to tousle hair, A subtle way, without a word, His soul to me he'd bare. He missed so much by dying young. Now memories must serve To fill in all the gaps with love The years have helped preserve.