I know my father.

   His hands, 
his voice,
his eyes, 
a kindred spirit,
my father.

     Soft,
yet work hardened hands,
   to the rescue when I had fallen.

   Grey eyes, 
eyes that seemed
to see into my soul,
seemed to look through me, transparent, 
I seemed.

    Voice,
deep yet loving, 
unforgettable,
and kind.

   Kind,
loving, 
and honest,
my father fell under each one of those 
categories. 

For: Kurt Brown