My father’s hands, were strong and firm,
But also rough as well.
He used them for the work he did,
And you could always tell.
You could see the calluses,
And all the scars and pain.
On his shirt you could also see,
Where blood had left a stain.
His work was hard and took its toll,
He knew it was just the way,
He provided for his family’s needs,
Just living day by day.
I don’t think he would change a thing,
Although his life was hard,
He played the deck that he was dealt,
Every single card.
I remember back when I was young,
And remember him with pride.
A measure of a man is not his gold,
But what he has inside.
-
Author:
lasergraph (
Offline) - Published: August 21st, 2017 07:58
- Comment from author about the poem: I worked with my father some when I was younger and witnessed what it was he did. I am still in awe.
- Category: Family
- Views: 4201
Offline)
Comments4
A fine write Laser. But arrgghh, you opened a can of worms, cos it recalled a song to me. So I gotta sing it: 'You need hands.....' or in my words 'Meoowwooo! (two cats fighting , or me singing?) heehee.
You never know what will trigger a song, I usually have them in my head all day after.
A first class tribute poem, and presented in an interesting form. Well done, lg!
With his hand, hard work and love, he raise a family with pride.
Such a fine writing.
A bold and wonderful piece of writing. Great tribute to your father. A pleasure to read this.
Thank you, I appreciate that.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.