For too many fathers today we roast.
We blame them for all our faults, pains and grief,
When for crying our loud,
Most did their best tall orders to meet.
None are born with the perfect gift,
Some are better than most,
Yet even them we fail to toast.
My dad struggled to talk,
He even struggled with my walk.
Yet a home he gave me,
Food and clothing I never went without.
Cranky he was, he had six rowdy kids,
He worked in stations above him,
Just to pay his bids,
In life to keep house and home and family from the skids.
Our fathers had fathers, had fathers, had fathers,
And so the story goes.
Some gave life and limb for our safety,
Some worked away from home,
Some died so we could be fathers,
Mothers, sisters and brothers.
Some die of broken hearts,
Because we tear each other apart.
Some stay lonely today,
Some take their lives today,
For fathers need to be fathers,
And today of all days, let's make a start?
Yes some a wicked, cruel and unkind,
Yet there are even mothers who do wrong,
They sell their kids and allow wolves in.
For those who suffer you have my heart,
But let's start again and find a better part.
No comments:
Post a Comment