Shadows of My Father

He was a common man of simple birth
Quiet, somewhat shy and broad in the nose
Shortness of stature, his slightly wide girth
In his youth he was thinner, the photo shows.

Hands like sandpaper showed years of hard work
Worn fingers darkened by grease and time
The smell of oil, post cleaning still lurked
Mixed with Old Spice that was scented with lime.

Frugal and strict, a practical, honest man
Not born to wealth, yet a good provider
Not always patient, but fair as one can
His dry wit always helped us feel brighter.

I miss him each day, almost to despair
His loss was the hardest for me to bear.

Barbara Vallaster Cramer

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