AP

A Father’s Heart

For Fathers who have daughters

I looked into her eyes,

In wonder at the sight,

Her elfin face and one dark curl,

The sparkling eyes of our baby girl,

Born on a winter’s night.

We nurtured her at home,

With tender love and care.

She slept all day and cried all night,

From setting sun to morning light,

We cried out in despair.

Sleep is such a gentle thing,

We loved her quiet room.

A necessity when life begins,

For building health and growing limbs,

And every flower that blooms.

One day she began to talk,

To crawl, to stand and also walk,

But every step brings hope and fears,

She’ll fall and we’ll be wiping tears.

But though we want to keep her safe,

She needs to part from our embrace.

But heartstrings pull – I find I keep,

An aching heart that never sleeps.

In the garden, around we go,

Running, tumbling, walking slow,

Skipping and sliding, one by one,

Dancing feet in the winter sun.

Dipping finger in the bird bath,

Picking daisies, from the green grass,

Walk slow, tip toe, over the stones,

Laughing, peeking, poking the gnomes.

We went to the seaside.

We played in wet sea sand,

Where diamonds sparkle and seagulls fly,

Building castles under sunlit skies,

And wandered hand in hand.

We read her God’s Word, and taught her to pray,

To trust in the Lord, for all of her days.

Find right and wrong, and how she is knowing,

Where she comes from, and where she is going.

Wake up, get up, for today you have school,

Have breakfast, get dressed, and follow the rules.

There are letters to learn, apples to count,

All reading is drinking from the great fount

Of knowledge that grows in hope and pleasure,

Exploring new vistas, finding treasure,

In imagined worlds and real-life magic,

In books and places, all things fantastic.

The whole world at her feet enchanting,

Spinning, swirling in her dancing.

To the drums and pipes a-calling,

Rising hope and fears are falling.

I wish these moments could stay here forever,

Too precious to value, boundless treasure,

Emotions embalmed and frozen in time,

Joyfully threaded, through life entwined.

But forever falling are hourglass sands,

Eternally lost, passing through our hands.

Moments are timeless ‘tween future and past,

Locked in memory, so long as we last.

But art is here to preserve transcendence,

A picture is wonder and beauty resplendent.

A heart felt offering of precious time,

To hold forever in rhythm and rhyme.

In paint and pastel, in print and prose,

To always remember, the name of the Rose.

So after I’m gone, and long passed away,

The Rose will recall, the mem’ry will stay.

Time invested, in art freely given,

To family on earth but also to heaven.

Where treasured moments are timeless forever,

And Eternity’s memory of beauty will never,

Pass into nothingness, but will always keep,

Pictures of promises, art that’s so deep,

The Queen who has the heart of a king,

Will pass on the mem’ry to all kith and kin.

We flew to old countries, we walked many miles

Across green fields, over heather and stiles,

Hiked across London (don’t step on a line!),

Walked the Museum, to go back in time.

Looked for the Queen at Buckingham palace,

Like Christopher Robin, standing with Alice.

Hiked up a mountain, and dined in a dell,

Had tea by Swiss lakes, as autumn leaves fell.

She’s finding her feet, she’s growing up fast,

But moments are quick and I’m always last,

Lingering on, finding time is for keeps,

With the heart ache’s tug that never sleeps.

Teaching her to drive, was all fun and fear

Parallel parking and changing the gears.

Much concentration, but learning the touch,

Of acceleration and easing the clutch.

Sweet seventeen, that milestone of morrow’s,

Happy with feelings of loss and sorrow.

A child no longer, a young woman now,

That past is gone and I’m watching the hour.

But we’ll go no more a-roving,

For now she’s spread her wings,

And taken flight to antique lands,

To study, walk and see first-hand.

A postcard from Paris, posted from Madrid,

Climbing Machu Pichu, hearing all she did.

Finding peace and comfort, that she can walk alone,

In safety and in places, very far from home.

Now where have all my flowers gone?

They’ve gone for husbands everyone.

Gone to make themselves a home,

And settle down, nor more to roam.

They’re picking flowers, for my pretty maid,

To have and to hold, on her special day,

A sunlit meadow – on my arm a bride,

Supper in a church, happiness inside.

Mixing bliss and grief, watching her depart,

Leaving us with empty nest,

Quiet peace, but never rest,

An empty room filled with an aching heart.

We pray for years of peace and plenty,

Winters short and summers lengthy.

For health and wealth enough to live,

To make mistakes and still forgive,

Through all the storms that life can bring,

Its rising tides and blowing winds.

To listen to each rival voice,

With wisdom there to make her choice.

But in the stillness, of night’s darkest hours,

When sounds are quiet, but thoughts are loud,

Did I give her then, all she needs to thrive?

Enough to tread, the rocky path of life?

Did I give my all?  Could I have done more?

In that stillness, I stand upon the shore,

Of a sea filled with all those precious days,

I might have taught her, how to find her way.

But every tomorrow had a today,

Until all morrows have faded away,

Until such days sink into the sea,

And I am left with the darkness and me.

And does a father ever know?

What does an aching heart bestow?

Except the joy that daughters bring,

Like flowers blooming in the spring.

For with my summer’s failing lease,

Life’s autumn dawns with falling leaf,

And winter beckons from over hill,

I have my memory with me still,

Memory of that springtime sweet,

When she played laughing round my feet.

With acknowledgments to Samuel T Coleridge, John Keats, William Shakespeare, Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, TS Eliot, JRR Tolkien, Pete Seeger and Jonathon Shaw.

– Ian Reilly