To speak of my father

To speak of my father

His confidence filled rooms, even more greatly
than his abundant physical presence ever could.
His voice, raised in anger, emptied halls and hearts,
but when turned to song brought silence and tears.

His silences thoughtful, and his words well chosen.
He could say much with little, and little with countless words.
He could speak volumes, through the silences
between sparse words, when he so wished.

He was a hard man; filled with righteousness,
stubbornly opinionated, and regularly right;
a stern demeanour, apparently unforgiving,
but gentle as a baby’s kisses, within his supple heart.

Many loved him – some may not have,
but any that knew him, could but respect him.

To speak of my father, is to speak of a hero;
a towering giant amongst mere men.
Yet the most human, the merest of us all;
plucked by good fortune and love’s blessing.