Daddy..

Every father has the unique smell, every young and old child can tell, a blooming father after the shave, a caring father when he saves, Leaning on his back on the bench, rocking and noting how he doing, shaving cream on the cheeks and chin, He slowly shed the thorns every morn, Since I was a child, he had been my slave, doing all my works with gentle care, he shifted my hair part from left to right, always looked at me as the Kohinoor, My father's hands were hard, which I like the most, but sad, Love for him still grows and is immense, no other man can share this, except my dad.