Loyd C. Taylor
Father Poetry: After Work
Forty hours of toiling hard
Can make a tiresome week;
But the work has to be done,
Though old bodies grow so weak.
Now, I’ve heard Pop often say,
“Be glad when this work day’s through,
I just can’t wait to clock out,
Go home and rest with Mom and you.
Son, it’s been a long hard day,
I’m worn down, clean to the bone;
And when that whistle sets me free,
You can bet I’ll soon be gone! ”
Now, that was many years ago,
Pops has grown feeble and slow.
His doc just informed us kids
That soon we’ll have to let him go.
Now, as we gathered around him,
Pop lifts his weary head,
Motions for us to come near,
For the final words he said,
“Now, don’t you fret about me,
For I’m worn clean to the bone;
My body is plumb worn out,
And soon now, I’ll be gone.
It sure has been a hard life,
Can’t wait for it to be through;
But I’ll rest soon as I get home,
Where, with Mom, I’ll wait for you.”
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