He diced with death; it was one summer’s day.
He’d left his three children alone to play.
Transforming himself to ice cold, blue steel,
on a dark dreamy day, seemed so surreal.
My mum shed warm tears; her heart had been torn.
My sisters held hands and wept on the lawn.
Nostalgically, they had both come to survey
the gorgeous green grass my father did lay.
From time that they put him into the ground
I shed not one tear, or uttered a sound.
My uncle said, “There is no shame, just weep.”
But all of my grief I’d buried down deep.
I stowed it, until I\'d meet him some day
beyond the blue Moon and mute Milky Way.
For then, far from earth, I’d shake his strong hand,
and say, “Dearest dad, I now understand.”