A father's love... whether throughout times of sorrow, or times of glory, is all but shallow.
A father's love is a thunderstorm, rumbling through a once peaceful sleep, finding my awakened soul as company. On the back porch, we seek credence, as we share stories, and simple silence.
A father's love is a music tune, carried from good intentions, deep in the lungs. Becoming bellowing blues from a harmonica.
A father's love is rolling mountains, as endless as eyes can see, resonating with nature's peace. Where he finds sacred hollows, and gains perspective on his woes.
A father's love is a blissful brew, aromatic, donning a frothy cover, incredibly complex underneath. It is a multifaceted flavor, sweet, bitter, delicate, of earth.
A father's love is in the now. It is there when the water is muddy; it is there when the mud has settled, and the water is clear. It has nothing but patience.
A father's love... whether throughout times of sorrow, or times of glory, is all but shallow.