Ragged, flimsy, thin, spotted card.
Creased with the tales of time.
Jaws equipped for a blow,
Ears higher than the mouth, just as God placed them.
Face structured like stone,
On the narrow shoulders of a boy, we lean.
And of all the 'siła' endowed to our name,
The windows gently lead to the soul inside.
Carry, drag, and crawl.
But never let an utter of hardship leave thy chest.
Like a ‘Schnadel’,
More gold surfaces, as time does what it does.
"Spread your wings as I have told you,
God bless you, I love you."
Love from 'Polska' is different than words,
More doing than talking, build a house like the birds.
Stay true to 'Wiara' like a true ****** would,
John Paul set example, follow, do good.
"Fight like you’re dying, please lose the sad frown,
‘cause you can’t let the ******* get you down."
What a name you uphold,
Humble pride that is shown,
And like a good yellowhammer,
'Papcio' always returns home.
A poem written upon seeing an old photo of my Polish dad as a young child. Our last name, Trznadel, translates directly to 'yellowhammer' in Polish, which is a bird that gets more gold feathers as it ages.
siła-strength. Wiara- faith Papcio-papa