My father was one to
stand at night
And look up at the sky
At springtime moons and
blue starlight
And clouds that drifted by.
He seemed to drink the fragrant air
In natural, keen delight
One with the breeze that
stirred his hair,
He'd murmur, "Some nice night!"
My father was one to
love the heat
Of any summer day;
The clover field to
him was sweet;
He mowed it all away.
With shirt stuck to his
back and wet,
Upon the hay he'd climb
And pause to mop his
face and say,
"Ah, good old summertime."
My father was one who
liked to live,
Who savored simple things.
He reached out, not to
take, but give
And lent us strength for wings
To reach beyond our
home and know
That his heart with us
would always go
And that in the greens of
trees and songs of birds
We could see and hear his
gentle words.
~ Esther Kem Thomas
No comments:
Post a Comment