Something More Personal
My dad began writing poetry at the age of 16 and would write a poem at the drop of a hat. Each of his girls, his grandkids, and many of his nieces and nephews have poems written just for them. I won't claim dad's work is Shakespeare quality - I probably can't even say how good or not they are since I'm very prejudiced! - but I love them and wish there could be more. I don't know when he wrote this one, but he posted it to our family website in 2006.
***
Time to Go Home
On Saturday mornings when I was a lad,
I'd go to town, just me and my dad,
We'd stop to shop at several places,
Saying hello to familiar faces,
Sometimes I'd wander off all alone,
Then I'd hear Dad's voice -
"It's time to go home."
In the summertime when school was out
I'd work with Dad, going around about
Scraping and cleaning and mixing the paint,
Often working 'til the day was faint,
Sometimes beside him, sometimes alone,
Then I'd hear Dad's voice -
"It's time to go home."
For many years I've trod this life,
Sometimes in pleasure, sometimes in strife,
I've climbed some mountains, walked some vales,
Felt summer breezes, braved winter gales,
Oft times at night when I'm all alone,
I wait for Dad's voice -
"It's time to go home."
(by Jack Bellairs, copyright 2006, 2009.)
(I doubt anyone will have the urge to post this anywhere else, but if by some long chance someone does, please keep dad's name and the copyright notice attached.)
***
Time to Go Home
On Saturday mornings when I was a lad,
I'd go to town, just me and my dad,
We'd stop to shop at several places,
Saying hello to familiar faces,
Sometimes I'd wander off all alone,
Then I'd hear Dad's voice -
"It's time to go home."
In the summertime when school was out
I'd work with Dad, going around about
Scraping and cleaning and mixing the paint,
Often working 'til the day was faint,
Sometimes beside him, sometimes alone,
Then I'd hear Dad's voice -
"It's time to go home."
For many years I've trod this life,
Sometimes in pleasure, sometimes in strife,
I've climbed some mountains, walked some vales,
Felt summer breezes, braved winter gales,
Oft times at night when I'm all alone,
I wait for Dad's voice -
"It's time to go home."
(by Jack Bellairs, copyright 2006, 2009.)
(I doubt anyone will have the urge to post this anywhere else, but if by some long chance someone does, please keep dad's name and the copyright notice attached.)