My Dad
His blackened face, I clearly see – The feeling when he looked at me
The feel of coal dust on his clothes – He worked so hard to fill our stoves
If he touched you, he left his mark – This was my Dad, our patriarch.
He worked long hours and double shifts – Our needs were met, a few nice gifts
Our Daddy’s love was craved by all – With seven kids, he’d play and crawl
Sometimes my Dad walked on his hands – A lot of practice, that demands.
I seldom saw my Dad in church – But watched him as for truth he’d search
I saw him read the Bible some – God helped my Dad to overcome
His drinking and his vices late – We all loved Dad, his love was great.
He loved to fish; at times took me – A hunter too; we’d wait to see
What he brought home, real late at night – We’d count his squirrels, to our delight
We ate those squirrels with gravy, too – I loved my Dad; he was true blue.
Robert Fultz – July 19, 2017
People Poems 