My old dad

My old dad


Swinging me high and onto his shoulders,
He’d take me for walks over fields full of clover.

Tussling his hair and pulling his ears
Sitting up there I had no fears

A big strong man, a miner by trade.
My dad was the best that God ever made.

As the scent of wild flowers drift by on the breeze,
He’d tell me secrets about the birds and the bees.

Never a man to back down from a fight.
Sometimes I’d wonder if he was right.

Just seeing his face his smile was enough.
To make me realise he wasn’t that tough.

Just a man with a heart and a soul that was big.
Making me safe, when I was a kid.

Now the years have gone by, it’s my turn to care.
For the man sitting, hunched in his chair.

His hair is all grey and his eyes are so sad.
It’s hard to recognise my old dad.

Once big and strong bulging with muscle.
He gets along now with an old man’s shuffle.

His legs are weak, he’s struggles to walk.
He motions for things unable to talk.

When on my own I pray for an answer.
All this money spent on wars, but no cure for cancer.



J.A.K