My father never set foot in hallowed halls,
Yet books filled him, and his voice rang out bold,
Like oaks of wisdom rooted deep and tall,
His words, heavy with the weight of pure gold.
Not bound to titles or caps thrown in air,
He sat with Whitman, Shakespeare, Melville, Poe,
Sought truths beyond, felt life’s wild, breathing flare,
As rivers of thought in his soul did flow.
Pages worn, his nights in candle’s low glow,
Crafting language as carpenters build homes,
To give shape to thoughts, to let wisdom grow,
Though he labored far from high marble domes.
Unseen scholar, the world in every page,
My father, teacher, in this boundless age.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: October 27th, 2024 04:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
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Comments1
Ivory walls are not needed for knowledge they are just a right of passage for a job. A great tribute to your father. Nicely done
Thanks Soren, I Appreciate your generous feedback
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