Dear Mother, Dear Father Poem by James Papastamos

A rose could not have smelled as sweet
as debonair as simple be;
Her deep brown eyes would color my world
where black and white was all I’d see.

A man of labour could not win
the battles he had won for me;
His arms bared anvils for a sleeve
a heart as stout, its blood ran free.

Dear mother, Dear father, what pleasures have
you’ve brought to one who’s just a boy;
Both raised me well, thy wisdom speaks
its volumes gather, oh what joy.

Whatever I’d find, I’d lose each day
but when I’m lost, you’d map the way