i was seven when my
grandfather passed on,
as i stood by his casket
in the ballpark of life
and death, the bases
were loaded-
my dad was my coach,
as my eyes filled
he came to the
batters box,
squeezed my hand and
without moving
his lips,
i got the signal
'grown men don't cry'-
i hit a home run on that
day, but when my
dad died i was on my
own and this was the
world series; the rain
fell in torrents, i didn't
win this game but i
became a better man~
~*~*~*~*~*~*
-
Author:
Thad Wilk (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 8th, 2024 08:32
- Comment from author about the poem: form, free verse
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 41
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy, isa kemmy
Offline)
Comments4
Good write T.
Hii Orchidee!! 🐹🐹👋
Thank you my friend!!
Great a hearing from ya!! 👍
Y'all have a great day!! 😊
Best regards ✌️ Thad
A very touching read.
But so you know, grown men definitely can cry.
Thanks so much for sharing
Hi poetess!! 👋 💐
And thank you
for your
lovely comment
you sent my way!! 🙂
I appreciate it immensely
y'all have a nice day!!
Best wishes 🤗🌹. Thad
Great analogy and a good message as well. Nicely done Thad
Hii Soren!! 👋 🍵
Thanks my friend
always great hearin'
from you, I appreciate
your inspiring comments!! 👍
Best regards ✌️ Thad
Super words Thad, we all go through this and I am not at all concerned about showing my emotions at any time.
Andy
Good day Andy!! ☀️😊 👋
Thank you my friend!!
Great hearin' from ya!!
Hope you have a great day!! 👍
Best regards ✌️ Thad
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