Only a Dad

My Dad was only a young boy of 17 when he left his home in Newfoundland and went to fight in the second world war. He met my Mother in England and I came along in 1947. When he finally brought his family home, it was hard going. He had sacrificed his youth, and the work he could get was low paying. As a result he worked three jobs to keep his family going. I would often join him at night cleaning a factory office. This is for you Dad!

Only a dad, with a tired face

Coming home from the daily race;

Bringing little of gold and fame

To show how well he has played the game,

But glad in his heart that his own rejoice

To see him come and to hear his voice.

Only a dad, of a brood of four,

One of ten million men or more,

Plodding along in the daily strife,

Bearing the whips and scorns of life

With never a whimper of pain or hate,

For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a dad, neither rich nor proud,

Merely one of the surging crowd,

Toiling, striving, from day to day,

Facing whatever may come his way;

Silent, whenever the harsh condemn,

And bearing it all for the love of them.

Only a dad, but he gives his all

To smooth the way for his children small;

Doing, with courage stern and grim,

The deeds that his father did for him.

These are the lines that for him I pen

Only a dad, but the best of men.

Thanks Dad