Singing Photograph
Mouth wide pint of porter in hand
his photograph sits faded so
Singing singing oh rare singing
“Please release me,” he said, “let me go”
Hair oiled on a cold hair spray night
Words did flow like velvet ribbons
Christmas tree under tissue paper snakes
precariously waving on some precarious mission
It now sits on the polished press
where slightest breath knocks it down
New once, seen, admired every day
my fathers image stands, it's not alone
Now joined by the faces of children
ones that didn't exist back when
Never heard his song or swayed with pride
or care that he sang to me when I was ten
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