Jun 21

I was nine when my father cried

head cradled on mother’s shoulder

his father’s casket surrounded with flowers and hushed voices.


I did not know the old man

a stern German who shared little of himself

but my father cried.


Then when my father died,

remembered by his music and the Navy hymn

my own tears flowed – for my father, my sons, myself


so many words unspoken

so many hugs unshared

so many possibilities entombed …


© 2009 Janet Smith Warfield All rights reserved


2 Responses to “Father”

  1. David Chernoff says:

    What a touching and heartfelt poem…thank you for sharing that…the end was my favorite…thank you.

  2. Barbara Huhn says:

    So personal – it brings back a ton of memories of him and my own dad. Tears are now coming down my face. . . Love you, B.

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