I think of the times when my father spoke
And we listened to him as it was always of note
For he had done it all in his travels on the sea
On his destroyer and won a war in what was meant to be
He liked his workshop and working on the wood
Making things out of nothing because he always could
He made his own furniture in a craftsman style
And I know he loved it all and was so worthwhile
But I know what he loved most in the world he had
Was being with us all together and as our dad
He had a singing voice that was quite melodic
I know that if he he'd recorded it would be stereophonic
He was someone others would ask for his advice
Machines were something he could work out in their device
When he finally got sick people came for miles to wish him well
And when he died we lost him in a grief that it was difficult to tell.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem