His words don’t come easy, they’re real hard to find
His clothes they are tethered, his smile it is kind
His hands they are callused and wrinkled from age
His brow is sun weathered but he never complains
He’s as gentle as a new born asleep in the night
If he thinks he’s threatened, prepare for a fight
When Sunday comes round, the old suit he adorns
The same worn out suit from decades before
His family they sit at the table and pray
They give thanks for the food they are eating today
Tomorrow he’ll leave for another day’s wages
And repeat the same thing he’s been doing for ages
His life like it’s scripted from out of a book
He goes with a smile and no second look
But this day he’s late, then comes the phone
Momma is crying he’s not coming home
I remember so well the day he went away
I still have that suit and I wear it Sunday
The funny thing is that I have to say
That tethered old suit starting looking brand new that day
2 comments:
What a great and moving poem. Brings back some sad but good memories.
thank you
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