Rfd a Poet

Pop was quite a poet, though his bio wouldn’t show it, with the exception of this little poem which I really do feel I owe him. He was happiest working in the wood, and did so when ere he could. That was one of his necessary incomes, for his five daughters and four sons. It was then he would sing a song, Always short and politically wrong. The rhymes could make us boys smile, If not but for just a little while. In the woods he was a self educated master, He loved it there; peace is what he was after, Everywhere else, us boys were a bit wary, His temper trigger was a little hairy. Brought up roughly, a Canadian farmer’s son, A machine gunner in the Second Big One, I never heard those gruesome stories very often, Only when he allowed his heart to soften. PTSD and nightmares were his living hell, complicated with Malaria fevers as well. With depression a formidable resistance, He farmed for his family’s existence. In good moments he would sing poems of an alter life, Where there was, obviously, no such strife, Of “when he would go swimmin With many bull legged wimmin”. Those feeling good songs rang out loud and gay, To keep his painful depression at bay. “Yes ... we have no bannaners, We have no bannaners today!” Canadian French was his language norm, So many of his songs took that form. I’m sure Mom was his best and biggest fan, She must have really loved that man. He had a hard life and his song poems helped him through, We were often at odds but he did what I could never do. An unknown hard man with a well hidden poetic heart, I don’t think he knew it, but Mom did from the start. For each of his children’s names, he made a French rhyme, Making the most of poetic license for each of his nine. They probably weren’t politically correct… But at least for that one moment, we .. Each of us ... were his elect. ( Dedicated to the memory of Rene Francis Dufresne 1917-1998 ) written by Bob Dufresne 6/5/11