His hair was black, crisp and wavy,
Above a face well-featured by grace.
A man who knew how to earn a living,
He could look the entire world in the face.
Dad’s advice I will never forget:
To try always to do your best,
And to thank God everyday,
Because He’ll take care of the rest.
To church, he went every Sunday
To hear the pastor’s learned voice.
The singing of the church choir
Allowed his weary heart to rejoice.
He told me to know to use my mind,
Since knowledge is much to be sought;
And there is no end to learning,
Or end to what needs to be taught.
Dad had hands that fixed anything,
With a bit of cement or a nail.
And whatever he had put together,
You could be sure it wouldn’t fail
If only I had listened to him more,
While he was here with me alive.
If I had paid attention to all he had to say,
Surely now I would know how to survive.
Copyright © Albert Price | Year Posted 2017