My father's hand, an English poem about my father.
It's bedtime, we settle down,
I grabbed one of my guys.
When I held him tightly, I saw a strange sight:
My hand. . . They look like my father's!
I remember very clearly, those rough old hooks,
One or two nails will always crack.
Thanks to a hammer that missed the target,
His thumb is beautiful blue!
I remember, they were rough and very hard,
As strong as a carpenter's vice.
But holding a scared little boy at night,
In my opinion, they are very good!
The sight of those hands-how impressive!
In the eyes of his youngest son.
Other fathers seem to have cleaner hands.
Their position affects employment.
When I was growing up, I seldom thought.
The reason for Dad's rough gloves:
Love in toil, dirt and oil,
Rusty water pipes make your hands uncomfortable!
Recalling the past, misty eyes, looking forward to the future,
When one day my time is over.
The torch of love is in my own wrinkled hands
Will be passed on to my son.
I don't mind the bruises and scars here and there.
Or the hammer that seems to be slipping.
What I want most is for my son to hold my hand,
To feel that love is in your hand.
David kettler.
Father's Day, the second English poem about father.
Over the years
As we get older,
We remember our father.
So brave and bold.
In the garden,
Leaning on the plow,
He will listen to me;
I see him now.
He will give advice.
And understand;
He is always there.
Give a helping hand
God created the father.
Strong and determined,
Because he knows our lives.
There will be great concerns.
So he gave it to our father.
Teach us to pray,
Guide our lives,
Show us the way.
So on his day,
Let's hurry
Say, "Thank you, Dad.
I'm glad you are mine. "
Mary Francis Bogell
My father, an English poem about my father.
When I was a child,
Do you remember when,
When you kissed my scar,
Or clean it with a dirty chin?
You grabbed the ball I hit,
(Long-winded,)
However, every time we play games,
You praised the "loser" I caught.
As if just yesterday,
You wiped away my tears,
I call your name in the middle of the night,
Drive away my fears.
Although time has changed your handsome hands,
Your hair is white,
Your pace is a little slow now,
Thick glasses are good for your eyesight.
Oh, do I long for the past years,
Become a ladder of growth,
Recreate all the memories,
Growing up with my dad.