My Dad
Ivy LenaMy 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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