The man I love has caloused hands
from working so hard.
His shoes are filthy
because he’s always on his feet.
His smells sour . . .
the factory has no fans.
He doesn’t buy me roses
and drives a rusty car,
but he got that stranger something to eat.
I couldn’t go to boarding school,
but he pushed me on the swing
and told me stories when I could not sleep.
I want to be just like my Daddy.
By Martha L Shaw – © 5-19-2015
Beautiful!
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Thanks!
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Beautiful Martha!!!
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Thank you!
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So, so touching! Nothing like a dad’s love for his daughter.
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Thanks! He’d have been 89 May 10th.
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A very touching poem for dad’s like me… Thanks for this lovely poem! 🙂
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My pleasure! Our fathers are the glimpse of what Abba is like!
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