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Daddy's Day (you'll need the tissues for this one!)

34 replies

sparkler1 · 14/06/2006 20:14

I've been searching for a father's day poem for a craft that I have to do tomorrow at parent and toddler group. Amongst the hundred's of poems I found this. It put a lump in my throat. Sad

DADDY's DAY

Her hair up in a pony tail,
her favorite dress tied with a bow
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
and she couldn't wait to go

But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay home
Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone

But she was not afraid;
she knew just what to say
What to tell her classmates,
on this Daddy's Day

But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone
And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home

But the little girl went to school,
eager to tell them all
About a dad she never sees,
a dad who never calls

There were daddies along the wall in back,
for everyone to meet
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats

One by one the teacher called,
a student from the class
To introduce their daddy,
as seconds slowly passed

At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare
Each of them were searching,
for a man who wasn't there

"Where's her daddy at?"
she heard a boy call out
"She probably doesn't have one,"
another student dared to shout

And from somewhere near the back,
she heard a daddy say
"Looks like another deadbeat dad,
too busy to waste his day."

The words did not offend her,
as she smiled at her friends
And looked back at her teacher,
who told her to begin

And with hands behind her back,
slowly she began to speak
And out from the mouth of a child,
came words incredibly unique

"My Daddy couldn't be here,
because he lives so far away
But I know he wishes he could
be with me on this day

And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know
All about my daddy,
and how much he loves me so

He loved to tell me stories,
he taught me to ride my bike
He surprised me with pink roses,
and taught me to fly a kite

We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone
And though you cannot see him,
I'm not standing all alone

'Cause my daddy's always with me,
even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
he'll forever be here in my heart"

With that her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest
Feeling her own heartbeat,
beneath her favorite dress

And from somewhere in the crowd of dads,
her mother stood in tears
Proudly watching her daughter,
who was wise beyond her years

For she stood up for the love
of a man not in her life
Doing what was best for her,
doing what was right

And when she dropped her hand back down,
staring straight into the crowd
She finished with a voice so soft,
but its message clear and loud

"I love my daddy very much,
he's my shining star,
And if he could he'd be here,
but heaven's just too far,

But sometimes when I close my eyes,
it's like he never went away."
And then she closed her eyes,
and saw him there that day

And to her mother's amazement,
she witnessed with surprise
A room full of daddies and children,
all starting to close their eyes

Who knows what they saw before them,
who knows what they felt inside
Perhaps for merely a second,
they saw him at her side.

"I know you're with me Daddy,"
to the silence she called out
And what happened next made believers,
of those once filled with doubt

Not one in that room could explain it,
for each of their eyes had been closed
But there placed on her desktop,
was a beautiful fragrant pink rose

And a child was blessed, if only a moment, by the
love of her shining bright star
And given the gift of believing,
that heaven is never too far.

OP posts:
PPH · 15/06/2006 16:47

read that pop, then read this, and tell me which you think is poetry

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if you wish to be close to me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

CountessDracula · 15/06/2006 16:49

Now that DID make me blub

Beetroot · 15/06/2006 18:00

To His Coy Mistress

HAD we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side 5
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews. 10
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast, 15
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate. 20
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found, 25
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust: 30
The grave 's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires 35
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power. 40
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun 45
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

NOTHING TO DO WITH FATHERS BUT OONE OF MY FAVES

Beetroot · 15/06/2006 18:01

Spring

NOTHING is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;

The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning

In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

AND MY OTHER FAV!

Enid · 16/06/2006 12:54

a friend sent me this when I had dd3:

Born Yesterday - Philip Larkin

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,
Or running off a spring
Of innocence and love -
They will all wish you that,
And should it prove possible,
Well, you’re a lucky girl.

But if it shouldn’t, then
May you be ordinary;
Have, like other women,
An average of talents:
Not ugly, not good-looking,
Nothing uncustomary
To pull you off your balance,
That, unworkable itself,
Stops all the rest from working.
In fact, may you be dull -
If that is what a skilled,
Vigilant, flexible,
Unemphasised, enthralled
Catching of happiness is called.

Enid · 16/06/2006 12:55

acutally cant physically read it without being in floods

Cod · 16/06/2006 13:13

oh barfathon

Enid · 16/06/2006 13:13
Grin
Twiglett · 16/06/2006 13:15

were the tissues to wipe up the vomit?

love the Phillip Larkin poem Enid Grin

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