Father
WHEN I THINK OF MY FATHER
I THINK MEAN AND TOUGH
HIS HANDS ARE ALL WRINKELED
CALLUSED AND ROUGH
I THINK OF MY CHILDHOOD
IN ALL IT'S DISPAIR
I THINK OF THE HARD TIMES
AND WHEN HE WASN'T THERE
I THINK OF THE NIGHTS
I SAT AND CRIED
I THINK OF HOW MANY TIMES
HE WAS NOT BY MY SIDE
SOMETIMES IT FEELS LIKE
ALL I CAN DO
IS THINK OF THE BAD TIMES
AND ALL I'VE BEEN THROUGH
BUT NOW THAT I AM GETTING OLDER
I FIND HOW MUCH HE HAS TOO
AND THEN I THINK OF HOW I WOULD MISS HIM
AND HOW MY SIBLING WOULD MISS HIM TO
EVEN THOUGH HE WASN'T ALWAYS THERE
I GUESS I CAN'T SAY THAT HE DIDN'T CARE
FOR IT IS LIFE THAT HE GAVE ME
AND ALL OF MY STRENGTH
FOR I'VE LEARNED HOW TO BE A PARENT
EVEN THOUGH THERE IS STILL HURT UNDERNEATH
FOR THIS I THANK HIM IN SOME PECULIAR WAY
BECAUSE IT'S MADE ME A STRONGER PERSON
AND NO ONE CAN TAKE THAT AWAY
Copyright © Rhonda Pope | Year Posted 2009
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