Jim Milks (2/7/1966 / Boston)
With his snow white hair, his steel gray eyes
he lives in my dreams where no one cries.
the frail old man that he had become,
fades away under the noon day sun.
In my dreams he lives, in my memories he resides.
That strong young man so full of pride.
His spirit is with me I talk with him still,
His spirit surrounds me it protects me still.
A story, a smile makes a memory spark,
a look from my daughter that touches the heart.
The shadows of the past vanish in the light
in my dreams he haunts me night after night.
he lives on in my gestures, my words, my deeds
he is my father, his approval I need
All that I am, or ever will be,
I owe to him and all he taught me.
He earned the title of Father, of Friend
to be like my Father I strive to the end.
To be like my father is what I crave,
the memory of my father I will carry to my grave.
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