My Father used to sit and stare,
While sitting in his big armchair,
When asked what was on his Mind,
As we did not wish to be unkind,
He’d pause from the thoughts he had,
Which were sometimes good and sometimes sad,
And tell us to be quiet awhile,
And he always did it with a smile,
~~~ For he was A THINKER.
He was a London Rabbi then,
And Sermons were prepared by him,
Whilst sitting, staring, in his chair,
To prepare his Thoughts and Worldly Cares,
That he could tell to his Congregants,
To enhance their Minds on these Events.
~~~ For he was A PREACHER.
His Sermons they were short and sweet,
But the Thoughts inside were ‘Full of Meat.’
Twenty Minutes was the most he spoke,
Lest boredom hit his attentive folk.
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 27 September 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem