Poems for Dad
Dad
Many poems have been written to explain,
How a mother's love can soothe the pain.
But little has been said about a Father's concern,
So.. now... I think it must be his turn.
A Father's love for his off-spring,
Is just like that of a solid gold ring.
No matter what, it is unending,
Never breaking; though.. sometimes bending.
His love is as strong as a mother's; although...
Due to his personality, it sometimes doesn't show.
There is no question of how strong..
Or of its lasting...however long.
So no matter if his child is good or bad,
There is no Love stronger, than that of a Dad.
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Daddy's Little Girl
You're the end of the rainbow
My pot of gold
You're Daddy's little girl
To have and hold
A precious gem is what you are
You're Mommy's bright and shining star
You're the spirit of Christmas
My star on the tree
You're the Easter Bunny
To Mommy and me
You're sugar you're spice
You're everything nice
And you're Daddy's Little Girl
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My Father When I Was...
4 years old: My daddy can do anything.
5 years old: My daddy knows a whole lot.
6 years old: My dad is smarter than your dad.
8 years old: My dad doesn't know exactly everything.
10 years old: In the olden days when my dad grew up, things were different.
12 years old: Oh, well, naturally, Father doesn't know anything about that. He is too old to remember his
childhood.
14 years old: Don't pay attention to my Father. He is so old-fashioned!
21 years old: Him? My Lord, he's hopelessly out-of- date.
25 years old: Dad knows a little bit about it, but then he should because he has been around so long.
30 years old: Maybe we should ask Dad what he thinks. After all, he's had a lot of experience.
35 years old: I'm not doing a single thing until I talk to Dad.
40 years old: I wonder how Dad would have handled it. He was so wise and had a world of experience.
50 years old: I'd give anything if Dad were here now so I could talk this over with him. Too bad I didn't
appreciate how smart he was. I could have learned a lot from him.
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Walking with Daddy
"Walk a little slower, Daddy,"
Said a child so small.
"I'm following in your footsteps
And I do not want to fall."
"Sometimes your steps are very fast,
Sometimes they're hard to see.
So walk a little slower, Daddy,
For you are leading me."
"Someday when I am all grown up,
You're what I want to be.
Then I will have a little child
Who'll want to follow me."
"And I would want to lead just so
And know that I was true.
So walk a little slower, Daddy,
For I must follow you."
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A Father Is . . .
A father is a source of strength,
A teacher and a guide,
The one his family looks up to
With loving trust and pride...
A father is a helper
With a willing hand to lend,
A partner, an adviser,
And the finest kind of friend--
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Here's To The Fathers...
Here's to the fathers,
who always begin, on the outside of children,
but looking in.
Such curious men snapping cameras like mad,
recording the moment,
they turn into "Dad."
Here's to the fathers, who put in their time,
who don't say to mother's 'that's your job, not mine'.
Who wipe chins and noses and never say "won't"
who do with the diapers,
what some fathers don't.
Here's to the fathers who manage to stay
when so many fathers are turning away.
When so many run, leaving families to
rot, here, then, a cheer, for those
who do not.
Here's to the fathers whose big money dreams,
die in the comer while their baby screams.
And yet without anger, dread or regrets,
they comfort the child, hold it close to their chests.
And as the child grows, they grow with it too,
learning a depth, that they never knew.
And soon they are older,
their hair slightly gone,
chasing two children around the front lawn.
Or carpooling teams to Little League games,
buying them hamburgers after it rains.
They mend broken dolls and fix broken wheels,
they cringe when their daughters,
try their first pair of heels.
They reach in their pockets, but never keep count,
they pay dear for parenthood awful amounts
They postpone their plans to sail across seas,
instead they sing "Barney" and bandage skinned knees.
Here's to the fathers who get off the phone,
to hear their sons practice their new saxophone
Who leave work to see their daughter's recital
Here's to the heroes,
who work without title.
For this is a world now full of neglect,
with everyday stories of lives
that are wrecked.
Of fatherless children who take up with guns
to kill other children of fatherless sons.
Divorce shattered families,
childhood's derailed,
mothers still waiting for checks still un-mailed
You wonder what wrongs these souls ever did
to make a grown man
turn away from his kids.
So here's to the fathers who won't compromise
who see a light shining in their children's eyes
And feel a rare glow as if from a gem
and know that once someone
saw this glow in them.
For all the good boys they have raised in the world
for all the examples they set for their girls
For all the loved children whose stories they'll tell
Here's to the father's that
taught them so well.
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First Lesson
By Phyllis McGinley
The first thing to remember about fathers is, they're men.
A girl has to keep it in mind.
They are dragon-seekers, bent on impossible rescues.
Scratch any father, you find
Someone chock-full of qualms and romantic terrors,
Believing change is a threat -
Like your first shoes with heel on, like your first bicycle
It took months to get.
Walk in strange woods, they warn you about the snakes there.
Climb and they fear you'll fall.
Books, angular looks, swimming in deep water -
Fathers mistrust them all.
Men are the worriers. It is difficult for them
To learn what they must learn:
How you have a journey to take and very likely,
For a while, will not return.
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What Are Fathers Made Of?
By Paul Harvey
A father is a person that is forced to endure childbirth without an anesthetic.
A father is a person that growls when he feels good; and laughs out loud when scared half to
death.
A father never feels worthy of the worship in a child's eyes.
He's never quite the hero his daughter thinks; never quite the man his son believes him to be,
and this worries him. So he works too hard to try and smooth the rough places in the road for those of his own who will follow
him.
A father is a person who gets angry when the first school grades aren't as good as he thinks they should
be.
He scolds his son; though he knows it's the teacher's fault.
Fathers are persons that give daughters away to other men who aren't nearly good enough,
so they can have grandchildren who are smarter than anybody's.
Fathers make bets with insurance companies about who'll live the longest.
One day they lose, and the bet's paid off to the part of them they leave behind.
I don't know where a father goes when he dies, but I've an idea that after a good rest
he won't just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he loved and the children she bore.
He'll be busy there, too; repairing the stairs, oiling the gates, improving the streets ...smoothing the way.