The Dear Old Dad Poem by Winifred Emma May

We miss him in his garden
Doing odd jobs here and there.
We miss him at the table
When we see the empty chair.
We miss him at the fireside
when we gather round the blaze.
We miss him, - oh, we miss him
In a hundred different ways.
When troubles came the family
Would always turn to him.
He always had a cheery word
When things were looking grim….
And now he's gone we know he wouldn't
Want us to be sad -
But life can never be the same
Without the Dear Old Dad.