PAPA PAUL

My father Paul, sat me one morning in the hall
His torso, hidden under a towel as thick as the fur of a bear
He said ‘son you must respect but not trust all’
‘It’s a wild world out there’

‘Not all who show you their 32, smile; some are for a bite’
‘Others will show it in trolling when you hit rock bottom’
He was like a shaking branch under the towel but forced a smile
‘Don’t let words stop your flow; and breaks stop your rhythm’

‘A friend in need is a friend indeed’
‘I shake though I have this warm material on’
‘In the heat of the moment, it denies me heat’
‘Thread with caution; those who can’t sing their own songs!’

He became a victim of reality when he landed roughly in a fall
In times of need, those he called ‘dear’ became so dearly rare
What distress call didn’t he make when he was sore?
Everyone played deaf when his wails went loud and clear

‘I do not pour in you fright but seek to set things right’
‘……just so when the day comes, you would fathom’
Oh priceless words that quench not in me a fight!
Wisdom that perseverance and hope quicken

Father Paul is with the pallbearers—I weep
He lives not; but not gone
Prior to his harvest by the Grim Reaper, he sowed in me seeds
I drink from his invaluable inheritance of words to keep strong