After my father died, I moved to his old house
Donated many large items to charities
As each item was removed, tears streamed down my blouse
But some were not wanted; what would become of these?
Set up a table in the yard; sign said, “Free Stuff”
The old Underwood typewriter wasn’t set out
Parting with memories it evoked was just too rough
It symbolized Dad’s life, without any doubt
The late night hours a CPA spent at his desk
With my cat curled up next to him, evoking grins
As Dad typed away, little Prince looked statuesque
I learned to type on what is now a “has been”
This manual contraption replaced by high tech
Represented a man who worked to provide
Freely offering love, but stretching each pay check
To give us a better life, Dad’s efforts applied
The hours work took away from his family
I used to resent, but I understand more now
A sacrifice he made for my siblings and me
The thought of parting with it I couldn’t allow
The typewriter remains on Dad’s desk in the den
As a reminder of how hard he worked to please
Sometimes I still peck at the letters now and then
When I’m missing Dad most, somehow it brings me peace
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