to my dad on his 60th birthday
A little boy in blue striped coveralls
Draws near his dad’s oak desk, stacked papers high,
And watches patient hands pay bills, too small
To know some dad’s don’t work to thus supply.
A teenage boy still groggy after so
Much sleep grabs breakfast, Dad just coming in
From yard work, soaked in sweat from head to toe,
Green specks hard plastered over sun-worn skin.
A young man looks across three decades, awed
At one man’s faithfulness to what he vowed
Now twenty-seven years before, though flawed
Has been the road, his constancy unbowed.
Great God, may I, like him, so raise my son.
May lessons learned not die but grow and run.
© Eric Evans 2012