My Dad

My Dad

My Dad was funny

My Dad was big

He loved nothing better

Than to do a little jig.

No hair to be seen

But a smile to compensate

A very friendly gentleman

Who had a sad fate.

My Dad was ill

Lung cancer, to blame

Not one whimper

Did this gentleman make.

No strength to be seen

As the unwelcome guest took hold,

Took hold of him

Took hold of me.

For eight months I watched,

I prayed

For a miracle cure

But none came knocking at his door.

So sadly he left

one February morn

An empty shell left

that he once worn.

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