A dads work is never done.

Limerick.

A poem about the stresses of life, and how no matter how bad it is by the end of the day you can just relax and enjoy some quiet time with your special someone.

Thinking about the father I hardly know.

Today is my Dad’s birthday. He would have been 92 if he were still living.

A memory — The smell of a textile mill and the aroma of oil soaked flooring permeated my dad’s clothing. His work ethic and his value of providing for his family sustained him. It was many years before I would learn just how difficult it was for our family when I was a boy.
HIs memory lives in me and I hope that this hopeful essay helps to kindle in the reader a similar gladness for the past.

This is like a sequel to the My Brother poem, but where that was written by
a preteen this is now written by an adult.

Poem about divorce.

About me and my life as a dad.

Have you realize how much it cost to raise you up?