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Dad ©

William Musleh
Glasgow, Scotland
2005

I will never forget the snow in his hair
The advice that he gave from his fireside chair
His slippers, his mug, the tammy he wore
The row that he gave me the first time I swore

The time that he gave me his last cigarette
The cuts on his face from a rusting Gilette
The suit he once gave me to take to the pawn
His leaving for work each day at dawn

The way that he walked, that old sailor's gait
The ribbing he gave me on my first date
His anger, his sadness, his laughter, his tears
His unchanging love down through the years

The pub where we met each Friday at eight
His face at the window if I was late
The songs he would sing to himself every day
The unashamed way he would openly pray

The handshake he gave me the day I was wed
The smile that disguised the tears he had shed
The last time I saw him, the last words that were spoken
The bond which we had that could never be broken

No, I will never forget my dear old Dad
The most faithful friend that I ever had
He departed this scene in the year Eighty One
I am so proud to be called my Father's son


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