Our Dad

Nice pens make him happy,
As does the written word,
Signature hake,
Ciabatta at Christmas,
Or tangy lemon curd.

We were up to his knees when we fed hungry ducks,
He has a passion, a love and devotion to books.

Whether playfully calling Sarah – booboo at the foot of our stairs,
Or narrating escapades of a buttony-boo who dares.

The dawn of a new morning,
Fresh mint on his breath,
Finishes his brekki then kisses our heads,
Sets off for the Lecky.

Scouting the front room making sure Santa is gone,
Large scuba Guinness slippers,
And a coke from good ole ‘Ron’.

“Nearly done love!
Except for three down,”
A snaggle on the poang,
Accepting his Oscar with a frown.

Turkish delight,
Rollercoasters with grandkids,
A potter, a pooch, a mozy,
A resting of the lids.

A sizzling plancha,
Dripping with butter cobs,
A patience and tolerance,
For all the ‘little jobs.’

Him and Q’s mam rubbing butter on their chips,
Cryptic phrases and a ‘sure-real’ on his lips,
Opting for a good pencil,
For the writing of shopping lists.

He is Dad, Gaga, Seán, Brother and Son,
Keep your sweetness and lightness,
For a fruitful retirement to come.

We love you Dad.