I wonder why it took another mans tears for your ears to open to the truth. Years I’ve spent crying over you, Getting drunk off the whiskey residue on your skin, Spinning in and out of your life Alarmed and dizzy. A meteorite that never quite hit the mark.
How were you to know you used to be the sun, That you’d cast us into an ice age? We will orbit you until there is nothing, Spinning ourselves into oblivion.
I wrote once that your hands cradled dust, But that doesn’t do justice the worlds your hands crafted Or the lives you lived. A father, first and foremost. It saddens me I will never know all your children. I doubt you feel despair that you never knew them either.
Here was the friend that heard the cries from the monster under the bed Who stood watch over her at night just to scare away fear and dread
Through all the pain and the laughter he's shared the pleasures and the tears Watched over her every day as the months have now turned to years
He is privy to her secrets none of which he will ever share The lifelong friend, who in the end is her very own Teddy Bear
He takes the blame for toys left out while passing her a knowing wink The mess was his upon the floor and the dishes not in the sink
His the last face she sees each night a smile, greets her every morn Their's is a friendship born of love the bond that will never be torn
In the four years since my granddaughter was born she has had a Bear. This bear stood her in good stead through laughter and tears. He was there when her father died. He dried up all the tears that they both cried. He has slept beside her every night and played with her everyday taking on any roll her skits called for. Payton is rarely seen without Bear.So when her mother called to tell us Payton had taken Bear to show and tell at preschool I had to smile. For here is the repository of all her hopes, dreams and fears. All contained in the little bear with the big heart.
I saw a girl Who belongs to me. It was in her gait, The way she turned her face, And cocked her head For clarity. That girl belongs to me. She's a reflective skeptic, Knows a half empty glass, But she doesn't cover Her eyes with wool, She knows when it's half full. She enjoys serenity. Yes, that girl belongs to me. She only lives a life of fun, Her demenor's one of curiosity; Just the other day She turned one. Yes, that girl's one of mine; I'd pick her in a crowd, Spot her out, Without a doubt, That girl is so sublime, She's definitely One of mine.
Papa, Had you held her, She'd be the death Of you. We see it In her lineage, Which we Ascribed to you. Eons of Irish tribes Coverge in her Blood lines; She is like The ripening fruit That cures and makes Fine wine.
When she speaks of me They will think Granda Is an old man, who wears Corduroy pants And a cloth Paddy cap. They will also think I wear wire-rimmed specs And slippers. That I have a loving heart. I do. I'm so pleased Aine Speaks of me.