Eighty Seven years
is what my father had.
He lived by simple means,
I'm proud to call him Dad.
War injuries to car accidents,
prostate cancer and more.
Could not erase that smile,
that my father wore.
He was proud he was a veteran,
and helped keep our country free.
He was wounded there in France,
across the cruel Atlantic sea.
Three boys he raised in Illinios,
till they all left on their own.
Some times it wasn't easy,
at times they made him groan.
As they grew into men,
I believe they made him proud.
They learned their lessons well,
from a man who stood out in a crowd.
His back was bent and crooked,
and his knees began to fail.
His love for his departed wife,
sometimes made him seem so frail.
But his faith in God above,
and to heaven he would go.
To be with his darling wife,
is what kept his face aglow.
I know I will miss him,
and our little talks each night.
I can now feel an emptiness,
as my tears I try to fight.
(Close this window)