While going through my inbox as part of my Quicken-ing ritual this morning, I found a poem my daughter wrote for me last Fathers Day, which she just recently completed. I thought I would share it:
For my father, who in my life
Once made me oatmeal cookies early morning
Filled with raisins, nuts, and love
Who works long hours far away
Just to put food on the table
Who has enriched my life with theatre
Musicals, plays, Shakespeare
And knew when to wipe my tears when I cry
To comfort me when I’m sad.
For my father who in my life
Brought me across the country
St. Louis, New Orleans, Nashville
Knew just where to go, which interstates to take.
And who sat in waiting rooms
too many times
and bandaged my wounds
Who can never ever ever take me shoe shopping
Or clothes shopping
Or any shopping for that matter
and through the headaches
At least tries to make my day.
