Daddy

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  • Family

    Daddy

    My daddy stood alone
    near the creek's edge
    his face into the wind,
    and I wondered about his life.
    Did plenty of happiness
    brighten his days between
    the sadness living often brings?

    Toil and trouble
    are his constant companions,
    following him around with
    hardship and manual-labor to spare,
    weathering his kind face and wearing
    his gentle hands to the bone
    all the days of his life.

    A young and reckless youth
    added to that, no doubt...

    A tear came to my eye
    as I remembered the man
    who bought a little girl of four or five
    a blue pinwheel to spin in the wind,
    a small gift but not forgotten, and
    I wish now I could give him the gift
    of rest for his weary soul.

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    lonewolf commented on Daddy

    01-20-2009

    very nice poem. its always good to pay tribute to our parents, as we all should. i'm sure he was a good man.

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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