Father’s Day
My father died when I was five so memories are few
But all of them are happy with what he used to do
He folded up his hanky while I was on his knee.
Then it became a mouse, as far as I could see!
He put it on his forearm and stroked it once or twice
Then it jumped right off his arm, which I thought was nice!
It seemed to me like magic as he caught it in his hand
And then he made it jump again at my shrill demand!
He made a tiny cricket bat from a bit of wood
That I would be a cricketer was fully understood!
Our lives are full of memories be they good or bad.
What will my kids remember when they think of “dad”?
Will they see the love I felt from the day we met?
Of comfort I would try to give when they were upset?
Of my singing loudly the songs learned in my youth?
Or of the embarrassment that they felt in truth?
I can’t do much about it now, but I did my best
I am but a father, just like all the rest!
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