Dad was an elegant sort of man
Dressed mostly in white shirt and tie;
A silver-haired man so tall and neat
A man sentimental enough to cry.
I remember he judged our report cards
While we stayed close to hear his review;
His lofty ideals and critical dismay
Over grades and behaviour traits too.
A pat on the back, a hug or a word
Secure we were with our hand in his;
The big words he used to tease our minds
A bit of sarcasm he shared with us kids.
To this day he remains so special to me
And the feeling he left each girl;
The remarkable love of this man we call Dad
As each of us knew we were the best of his world.
At eighty-one, tired, yet mind so sharp,
The octogenarian he said he'd be;
Tucked into bed, his rosary held close
Slipped from this world into eternity.
© Mary Palmer
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