When I think of my father, which I do now and then

I shed a tear for what should have been.

He had a big grin and a warm, friendly smile

He dressed immaculately, that was part of his style.

He could recite whole sonnets from the plays of Shakespeare

Or tell tawdry jokes, when sure that no children could hear.

We worked together; he a waiter, I a busboy

Time spent together was always a joy.

He couldn’t enjoy his grandchildren, which now total fifteen

Nine of them, he’s never seen.

He died too young and bore too much pain

Without him, my life was never the same.