Poem -

My Father

Obsessed since no age,
The man I called my Dad,
Always who I looked up to,
I was his only lad.

Then just twice a month,
Six short hours at a time,
Always late to come,
But Saturdays were just mine.

As the years went by,
The time together increased,
Always tagging along,
The effort seemed to decrease.

I was always there,
Waiting for a scrap of praise,
Never seemed he cared,
His new family he raised.

Now we are strangers,
I have a boy of my own,
I cant imagine a day,
When he'd ever feel alone.