Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2023
Dads are people sons never
forget, for good or bad and
when the son is gone there
is no one to remember the
father. Say for some fading
black and white photos in a
scrap book: "That was your
great grandfather. He fought
in the war. People called him
Bud, but his real name was
Wyett with an E. He taught
me to cast a fly in a mountain
stream and tune the engine
in my first car, and not to lie."

My grandsons almost grown
are good and loving chaps, but
never ask me about their Great
Grandfather. Out of sight, out of
mind, I guess. Maybe I am the last
to remember or care. Our touchstones
to the past are frail at best.
Yes, on this day and everyday
I remember my Father with the
same love he bestowed upon me.
Written by
Stephen E Yocum  M/North Western Oregon
(M/North Western Oregon)   
         Maddy, Mara W Kayh, Ciel Noir, v V v, patty m and 26 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems