DAD

Dad

My father was a quiet man with eyes of steely blue,
Hair combed straight back, a crooked smile, and tall, quite handsome, too.

He played an old flattop guitar; he could strum it by the hour;
And when I asked, he always played my favorite, “Wildwood Flower.”

He never had a lot to say, but we listened when he did;
And when his temper blazed white-hot, I often ran and hid.

Sometimes I wondered if he cared about this little girl.
Or was I just a noisy kid who played outside his world?

His loving mother passed away when he was just a lad;
And every time he spoke of her, his eyes became so sad.

He seldom went to church with me, and I never heard him pray;
But his brother led him to the Lord close to his final day.

I never really knew the man, but just before he died,
He looked at me with love and said my name, and we both cried.

I miss the walks that we never took, and the talks we never had.
Though many years have come and gone, yes, I still miss my dad.

Now silver lingers in my hair, and years, more than a few,
Are etching lots of laugh lines in a face no longer new.

But one thing never changes in the mirror where I view….
My daddy’s eyes look back at me in that shade of steely blue.

###

Story ID:	548
Written by:	barbara elliott carpenter (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Poem
Location:	Mt. Vernon IL usa
Year:	1995
Person:	Willis Elliott