Abba

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

daddy and me

8 Responses to Abba

  1. bring bread says:

    Beautiful!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful Martha!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. So, so touching! Nothing like a dad’s love for his daughter.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Ompong says:

    A very touching poem for dad’s like me… Thanks for this lovely poem! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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