Strapping Poem by Barry Van Allen

He was a local legend,
to me, he didn't have to be,
all that he had to be, was with me,
and that he always was.

I sat upon his shoulders,
at the table in the morning,
... She looked at the two of us,
I'm not sure I ever saw her happier,
and I'm not sure that I ever was.

Yes, he was a local legend,
hell on wheels...,
without the wheels... ,
fortunate to be roaming free.

Fortunate to be in the right place,
at the right time...
for mom and me!

He was what he was,
she was what she is,
you are going to have to work with that,
because, it is sort of like a legacy!

I am learning to be proud of that,
even when it does not fit,
both have taught me to forget,
and at the same time know the roots.

It is no wonder that confusion rules the roost,
when you, at times can see from somewhat high,
as you are strapping from your boots.