My Father's Hand
When I was a boy I did not understand
Just how much was carried by my Father’s hand.
But now that I’m older, I stand in his shoes
And see all the burdens a man can’t refuse.
I’d nothing but time that I wasted each day.
With no nine-to-five and with no bills to pay.
Through years and experience fin'ly I’ve found
That I understand why he wasn’t around.
It’s funny, I think, but in ways kind of cruel
How time, of all things, makes us each out as fool.
There’s never enough and it goes by so fast,
Before we all know it, the future’s the past.
Each moment we’re given, they say, is a gift
But good times zip past us, impossibly swift.
We live in the present, the hours drag on
And suddenly realize how much is gone…
I’m sorry now, Dad. I just wish I had known
The lessons I’ve learned since I made my own home.
The burdens that came with each choice I made:
The chores to be done and the bills to be paid.
The worries and fears that we cannot control
That heavily weigh upon our hearts and souls.
Forgive me please, Dad, for now I understand
Just how much is carried by a Father’s hand.
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