Dad was always tinkering, either this or that; He could mend 'most anything, table, tub or hat; He could fix a kitchen sink, putty in a light -- Anything, just like a wink Dad could make it right, Even make a kite For a boy so he could play In the meadow Saturday. When a dolly's broken arm made a baby sob, Filled her bosom with alarm, that was Father's job. He just made it good as new in a little while, Till, like sunshine breaking through, came the baby's smile. Hammer, saw or file, Father always had them near, Curing many a baby tear. Father didn't have so much; people used to scold 'Cause he didn't have the touch turning things to gold. Dad was always making right something that was wrong; Father didn't have a sight, yet we got along -- Had as much of song In our family, I guess, As the folks who more possess. People used to criticize Father and his ways: Other men were otherwise, did the work that pays. Yet I often think that Dad, maybe, after all, Really more of pleasure had, though his wealth was small, Than the men who call "Wealth" the money they save out For their folks to quarrel about. All that Father had to give was a little home; Yet the longer that I live, farther that I roam, All the while I hope and pray, with both heart and mind, When I have to go away, that I leave behind Memories as kind As I have of him, that bring Thoughts of Father's tinkering. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LUNCH AT A CLUB by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET BROTHERHOOD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MARTHA WASHINGTON by SIDNEY LANIER SURFACES AND MASKS; 6 by CLARENCE MAJOR BETRAND AND GOURGAUD TALK OVER OLD TIMES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: HENRY MURRAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NIGHT AND DAY: 4 by ISAAC ROSENBERG |