On Father's Day
S
Sandra Feldman
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He died when I was twenty,
On the most horrible day of my life,
The pain I felt was relentless
Sharp, like the blade of a swollen knife.
Goodness was his living Soul,
Intelligence, his banner,
Honor was his sacred goal,
No man was ever finer.
I miss him and I always will
Our time together was so short,
But in every poem I ever wrote,
There is a part of him.
He made me all I am today,
For all my life
With me he'll stay,
Not only on this Father's day.
Bu şiiri puanla
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