His eyes told a story ones lips couldn’t say,
His chest still held a pounding heart everyday.
His hands were rough and very dry,
He will protect his children until he will die.
That is my father, indeed,
The greatest male figure I will ever need.
Who lived in a world that no longer exists,
The land that was split and gone into an abyss.
Who spend 8 months in a concentration camp,
Who slept in a barn, despite it being cold and damp.
Who used fence wires to make art from wood,
He was alone, and to this day he stood.
Who wrote letters of sweet sorrow to my mother,
Who suffered the loss of his murdered brother.
Who is a successful and respected immigrant to this day,
He is a wonderful man, there’s not much to say.
Who watched many rot and fade,
But freedom is something he soon made.
He moved to America, no English learned,
Leaving his home in rubble and burned.
But despite all that he became a wealthy man,
He fought for his rights with all that he can,
And when I look at my father I see stormy skies,
That’s his story by simply looking in his eyes.