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.