A Poem for my Father

Fathers and Sons

Waves  are  crashing  on  the  shore,

Rivers  racing  evermore;

Boys  are  running  every  day;

To  try  their  hand  at  father’s  chore.

Skies are  dripping  wisdom’s  thoughts,

Seeds  are  growing  into  crops;

The  eyes  of  youth  are  tilting  up,

Learning  more  than  what  is  taught.

Mountains  are  mourning  loss  of  glory,

Builders  taking  from  the  quarry;

Sons are  growing  in  their  skin,

Bodies  tell  their  father’s  story.

Craftsmen  are  carving with strokes of time,

Marble’s  grain  dictates  the  line;

Children’s  hearts  bear  fixed  runes,

Pointing  to  their  true  design.

Wind  is  blowing  ‘cross  the  field,

Summer’s  stem  brings  forth  its  yield;

Boys  are  growing  into  men,

Whispered  counsel  all  revealed.